Sleep While I Drive
by Rachel Greenwood
Summary: It's 1932. They've been traveling together for 20 years, and they probably couldn't stop now even if they wanted to. No criminals ever really can.
1. Chapter 1

_Winter 1932_

They were right about him; he _was_ a professional. But he wasn't targeting Rose, and he wasn't lying to her. He never lied to her. He would never hurt her. She was something he hadn't anticipated. She was something that just happened to him.

"Well?" she said, indicating the box of Bibles he held. "Are we doing widow business for a while?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I think we should. Keep things simple. Keep a low profile. That last job was—" He shook his head. "It was too close."

Rose laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry, honey."

"It wasn't you," Jack said. "You did everything exactly right. It was the place. Or maybe we pushed too far, overplayed our hand."

"We can't really do that with the widows," she observed. "They either pay, or they don't. None of them ever get the Sheriff after us." The memory of their stay in the tiny Alabama sheriff's office was still fresh. It had looked like they wouldn't make it, but somehow, they had. She decided it was a combination of Jack's talking, and the deputies' interest in her. The longer they looked at her, the less they cared about holding them. When they said they were free to go there had been a moment when they seemed about to add _she_ wasn't free, after all. That had happened before. Rose knew how to read the signs. Jack's hand had already been curled into a fist. His other hand was on the table, inching toward his gun. He hadn't ever shot a deputy—or anyone else—but he had threatened to plenty of times, when he had to. When it was their only way out. Some men might had left her; they might have decided having her along was too much trouble. But not Jack. She knew it was more than the air of respectability she gave him, more than her looks or her status as a partner. If she had been just some girl he picked up the word partner would never have entered the picture. There had been girls before her. Jack freely admitted that. It was part of his code of honesty to tell her.

" _If we're going to do this," he had said. "We have to be able to trust each other."_

" _Who can trust a criminal?" she replied lightly The word scared her, but she didn't want him to know._

" _What I do isn't any different from what your fiancé and his friends do," he said. "You think they get all that money honestly? And I never take anything from anybody that really needs it."_

He looked the same, she thought as she watched him rearrange the contents of their car. Most of their things were in the trunk, but they kept anything they might need to get to quickly in the backseat. Of course, it wouldn't do to look too prosperous or like they lived out of their car. Passing for a traveling salesman and his wife worked just fine when they did widow business, but they still had to look like they had a respectable home somewhere, not too far off.

His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing muscular, tanned forearms. Jack was always tan. He had been since the night they met. The sun loved him. Soon after they began traveling together, he began a skincare routine he still used, at Rose's urging. "The sun will destroy that pretty face," she warned. But now he was glad he listened. He was forty and still passed for twenty-seven.

"Got everything?" he asked.

Rose nodded. "It's like we were never here."

"You didn't have to be that thorough," he said with a grin. "No law against camping out, is there?"

"When you don't have permission to be on the land there is," she said drily.

He shrugged. "A technicality. I'm sure the owner would have been happy to let us sleep here."

Rose pulled out the map as they drove away. "Where to now?" she said. The glove box was full of maps, all well-used and perfectly folded. Sometimes she marked their routes in pencil, but mostly she kept them in her head, where they could never be used against them. Between the two of them they had most of the country memorized, especially the back roads and small towns. They had to know them. There wasn't always time to check a map, and they didn't like to be seen with them unless it fit their business for that day.

"I'm tired of Texas," Jack answered. "It's too big."

What he really meant was it made him nervous. Getting across the state line would be too difficult, if not impossible, if they got into a jam. Rose knew this without him saying it. She and Jack had developed a language all their own. It began when they met, and it had saved them more than once.

 _October 1912_

 _The car smoked. Sputtering, it came to a stop. Jack swore under his breath as he got out. "Can you fix it?" Rose asked, following him._

 _He frowned as he studied its inner workings. "With the right tools I probably could. With enough money," he answered. "But I'm not throwing away any more money on it. It'll be less trouble just to get a new one."_

" _Do we have enough money for that?" Rose didn't see how they possibly could, even with as much as Jack seemed to have._

 _He grinned. "Yeah. But we don't need it."_

" _You steal cars?" There was something exciting about the thought of Jack racing away in a stolen car, being next to him as he did it. Other men she had known stole, just as he'd said, but they never admitted it. And it was always done quietly. So far what Jack did wasn't exactly stealing, not as far as she could see. He didn't force anyone to part with their money. He talked them into it, and most of them seemed more than willing to be persuaded._

 _The plan was simple. He explained it to her as they drove into town. They would trade in their old car and get a new one. They'd pay with a check. Then they would take that one and sell it for cash, making sure to tell the salesman when and where they bought it. After that, they would go back to their hotel room and wait. The goal, he told her, was to make the first man think their check wasn't good, and then when he was ready to have them thrown in jail, prove him wrong. Jack always had several bank accounts open in different states so he could probe his checks were good, and also because he didn't like his money all in one place. Carrying cash wasn't safe, either. The first thing he did whenever they came to a town where he had an account was go in and put Rose's name on it. "You never have to ask me for money," he said. He had given gifts to girls before but never cash. He had never told them the secrets of his life, either._

" _Now, don't be nervous," he said. "When they start accusing us of trying to cheat 'em just act offended. Rose, you don't even have to say anything. I'll do everything." Before they went in he kissed her. "Don't be nervous," he repeated._

" _I'm not," she said. It was a lie; she was terrified. But the more Jack talked, the calmer she became. He knew what he was doing. He had the kind of face people trusted. He looked honest, and even younger than he was. Rose knew it sounded absurd, but she knew she could trust him. He changed when he was doing business. His pose, his voice, his eyes, they all changed. The look in his eyes was always the same then. A wall came up in them, but only she seemed to see it. There was never anything like that when he spoke to her, and what would be the point of conning her? He could get a girl without going to the trouble of making her believe he loved her or giving away his secrets. Rose had power over him, and they both knew it. He'd given it to her._

 _At first, everything went as planned, but then something changed. One of the men got suspicious. Things began moving quickly. They were talking about arresting Jack. Suddenly, they were in front of a judge, and he didn't look sympathetic. Jack glanced at her, trying to reassure her. The deputies were staring at her. Rose didn't know what made her do it. She stood up and heard herself declare, "He hit me!" She pointed at one of the deputies. "And the other one, he grabbed me," she went on. Jack watched, intrigued and amused by her performance. It was like her lie after they met, unnecessary but welcome nonetheless. Unnecessary not because it didn't help him, but because it didn't help her._

 _1932_

They drove through Oklahoma without stopping. Rose slept on the front seat, her head resting against his leg. His arm lay across her shoulder. They night was cold, but they were prepared for that. They had enough blankets to keep a dozen people warm, and in the car it wasn't so bad. As soon as they crossed into Kansas, Jack decided they would stop. It was a good place to go next. They always had good luck there.

…

It was late, but the sleepy clerk gave him a room anyway. Jack took in their bags before carrying Rose inside. Her eyes fluttered as he lay her on the bed. "Go back to sleep, baby," he said quietly. He kissed her. "Everything's alright."

"Hold me?" she murmured.

"You know I'm gonna," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her.

It was difficult to remember what life had been life without her. Jack settled against her, stretching his legs, stiff from driving all day. They didn't really have friends. People who weren't in their line of work got suspicious and asked questions after a while, and they rarely stayed anywhere more than a few weeks. People in their line of work weren't the sort they would associate with. To some it might have sounded hypocritical, but as they saw it, there was an honesty to what they did. They had no illusions about what they did or why. They couldn't afford them.

 _April 1912_

" _I knew you didn't do it," Rose said. "You wouldn't. You're not a thief, Jack."_

 _Jack shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Maybe. Maybe not. I don't think I am," he said. "I don't take anything from anyone. I don't make them give me anything."_

 _Rose tilted her head up, confused. "What do you mean?"_

 _He took her hands. "I'm trying to tell you what I do," he answered. "God, I've never told anyone what I do." His eyes were solemn. "But you should know. I want you to know. I want you to come with me, Rose, like you said, but you have to know everything first."_

" _You told me—"_

" _I told you some things. They were true, but they weren't the whole story," he said. "I'm not—I don't have anything to offer you, in a way, but I kinda do. I—"_

" _Jack, what are you talking about?" she asked nervously._

" _Do you trust me?"_

 _She nodded. "I trust you."_

 _1932_

She hadn't believed him at first, but finally she saw he was serious. More importantly, he was sincere. She was slightly surprised to realize she didn't love him any less. Telling her his secrets was an act of love. It was dangerous for him, mostly because she could leave him. He hadn't cared as much about the possibility of being turned in.

But she hadn't. She went with him, and she was still with him. Jack didn't care about the money. All told, they probably had a small fortune, certainly enough to live on if they needed to. He liked knowing it was three, but they didn't live like wealthy people. They took care of themselves. His clothes were always in good condition, if a little plain next to hers.

What mattered most to him was Rose. There were times when he thought about quitting, giving up their nomadic existence and settling down in one of those towns they always drove through. It was a dangerous life, even if they weren't gun-slinging bank robbers. That was the fashion now, but they avoided violence and outright left whenever they could. Jack carried a gun for protection and for the status it gave him with some men.

Sometimes he brought up the idea of settling down to her, and sometimes she agreed it was a good idea. But they both knew they wouldn't, not yet, if ever. Anywhere was home if they were together, and after twenty years the danger was mostly a distant figure on the horizon. Rarely did it come close enough to really frighten them.

Two months before it had. They didn't talk about it directly, they were both still shaken. Jack tightened his arm around her and tried to fall asleep.

…

"So we're in Attica. I think we should start around here," Jack said. "Work our way out to the rest of the state. We haven't really done this side much."

Rose scanned the obituary page of the morning paper. "Only a few," she said. "A Mrs. Elvira Warren, Patsy-Sue Collins, and a Margaret Black."

"That'll do for now." Jack drained the rest of his coffee. It felt good going down. The day-long drive had left him with a chill he couldn't shake. Through the window he could see the sky was clear, with no sign of snow clouds. It was a bright, sun-filled day, and of it hadn't been they wouldn't even had bothered talking about doing business. They couldn't survive getting caught in a snowstorm.

"You want me to put their full names or just the initials?" she asked.

Doing business with widows was tricky, but most of the time it paid off. Putting their names on the Bibles helped. Just the initials would do, and if they turned it down there was still a chance the Bible could be used later. They got them so cheaply, though, it didn't matter if they lost out on a few. Losing occasionally was all part of doing business, any kind of business.

Sometimes Jack went to the door alone, and other times Rose went up with him. Generally, they played it by ear. Some women took more kindly to the story if she was there. Others didn't. If a man came to the door Rose did most of the talking. They knew doing business well depended on charm, and it didn't hurt that they were both beautiful, although Rose wasn't always sure about herself. And Jack just laughed when she mentioned his good looks.

"Why do you think I ran away with you?" she'd say. "You can't think it was so I could help you do business."

"Wasn't it?" he'd say.

"That part is alright," she said. But really, she liked it. At first she hadn't understood why Jack did it, but then she tried it for herself. It wasn't about making money, not really, though their ventures certainly paid more than any legitimate job they could get would have. It was the challenge they liked most, the risk of it, seeing if they could close the deal. And nothing else would have given the same freedom and security.

Rose stayed near the car when Jack went up to the first house. The door opened after only a knock. A prosperous looking women appeared. She wore a neat, bright dress; her grey hair was carefully done up in a knot. She gave Jack a curious but not unfriendly look. "Yes?" she said.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but is Mr. Peter Warren home?" he said politely.

"Why no. Mr. Warren passed on a few days ago," she said, stepping out onto the porch. She glanced at Rose and then to Jack. "What did you need with him?"

"I was just delivering this Bible he ordered, ma'am," Jack answered. "I spoke to him just a couple of weeks ago."

"He ordered a Bible?"

"Yes, ma'am. The Deluxe Edition, uh, with a woman's name printed in gold on the cover." He opened the box and held it out for her to see. It was a thick edition with a white cover and the name Elvira printed in pretty letters.

"Why, that's my name," she said. "You say he ordered it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm with the Midwestern Bible Company." He held out a car. "I sell these here good books. Jack Dawson."

"Along with—"

"Along with my wife, yes," he said. He motioned to Rose. She moved up to him and nodded to the woman, smiling demurely. She took in the woman's appearance and what she could see of the house through the open door. Elvira was looking at the Bible cover. In that second before she looked up, Rose tilted her head, signaling to him. Jack nodded, just enough for her to see he agreed. Price was a flexible matter when it came to widows. If they didn't agree on something, they didn't do it. They couldn't do business properly if they were out of sync.

"You're not obligated to take it," Rose said. "We'll just give you back your husband's dollar deposit and be on your way. We're sorry to have disturbed you at a time like this."

"Oh no, I'll take it," Elvira said. "Knowing he thought to do such a thing for me is a greater comfort than you can know. How much did he owe?"

"Well, that's the Deluxe Edition," Jack said. "Minus his dollar deposit, it's $24."

"Alright, I'll get my purse."

Before Rose, Jack had always stuck to the same prices, but she had pointed out he was missing opportunities for profit. "People with money, who are secure in their money," she had said, "They can't throw it away fast enough. Jack, you tell them something is expensive, and they'll want it more." And she was right.

As they drove back to the hotel that night Rose sorted their earnings. They made $60. $40 was to be sent to their Kansas bank account. The other $20 went into Rose's purse. She carried all of their cash, though it wasn't always kept in her purse. She had dozens of hiding places, as Jack had discovered on more than one occasion. Most of the time she didn't need to use them, but it didn't hurt to be prepared.

"Not bad," Jack said.

"No, not at all," she agreed. She leaned against him; he put an arm around her and drove one-handed. The night was bitterly cold, but the sky was full of stars. Jack shivered despite the blanket over his knees.

"Let me drive," she said. "You can get warm over here."

"I'm fine."

"You're cold," she argued.

"Won't kill me," he said. "Having you close is keeping me plenty warm."

"You're trembling," she said.

He grinned. "Doesn't mean I'm cold."

"It does right now. Let me drive."

Jack lay against her, wrapped in a blanket. Her hand rested on his head. Her fingers moved slowly through his hair. He closed his eyes and let the rumbling of the car, and her voice lull him to sleep. It was an old song, but when she sang it, it sounded new.

…

"Wake up, Jack."

He groaned and opened his eyes. The world outside his blanket was cold, and he didn't want to move. But he got up anyway. Yawning, he followed her up to their room.

"I'm sorry I can't carry you," Rose said.

"I guess I can forgive you," he said jokingly. He looked at the clock. "It's not even nine. Too early for bed,"

"Not if you're tired."

"I'm not tired," he insisted. "I'm—" A yawn cut him off. "Maybe I'm tired," he said.

"Go onto bed. I'll be there soon," she said.

"Better be." His tone was affectionate. "I hate sleeping alone."

"You can't remember the last time you slept alone," she said.

"Why would I want to?"

Rose quickly ran out of things to do, but she was too wide awake to get in bed. Reading wouldn't work. Her mind was humming too loudly. She needed something to make it stop. She was out of blank notebooks so she settled for a few sheets of hotel stationary.

Writing things down always helped. She poured out her thoughts and feelings until she felt empty. It was a good emptiness, a clean feeling. She wondered if Jack felt something similar when he drew. With the last sheet of paper she made a list of everything they needed. Drawing paper went at the top. He was nearly out, and if the weather turned bad he would go through it quickly.

Rose was about to get into bed when it began. Tires squealed and sirens screeched. Through the window she watched the police surrounded the house across the street. Guns were aimed at the front door and orders for its occupants to come out were issued. She watched as the people down below waited for what came next. She gasped when the shooting began.

"Don't watch," Jack said, pulling her away from the window. She lay down with him. Outside, they could still hear shots and screams, the squeal of a getaway car. He held her tightly and tried not to hear it. "That won't be us," he promised.

"Jack—"

"I know. But it won't be us. Trust me, Rose."

"I trust you," she said.

When it finally died down he got up. "C'mon, baby," he said, reaching for her hand. "Let's get out of this town."

 **AN: I don't know if this will be a oneshot, or if I'll add more chapters. I definitely want to do a longer story about them as outlaws. And some of this came from Paper Moon.**


	2. Chapter 2

_July 1912_

Jack used different names, usually a variation of his own. When he could, he preferred using his own name, but he knew how dangerous that could be. It was better to hesitate sometimes when someone called him by an alias than have his real name linked to anything he could be arrested for. He used his real name for anything that mattered, anything he intended to be permanent. It was the name he introduced himself to Rose with, and it was the name he wanted to marry her with.

"Why would you want to marry me?" she asked.

"What kind of question is that? Why _wouldn't_ I want to marry you?"

"Jack, you have to admit, it's a rather conventional thing to do," Rose said. "And ours is a decidedly unconventional life. Not to mention the fact that we've lived as if we were already married for months now."

"So?"

"So I know I'm not the first girl," she replied. "I'm not that naïve. A man like you, well, he's sure to have had lovers."

"So?" he said again. "I never wanted to marry any of those other girls. I want to marry _you_ , Rose."

"Why? Because you love me? Jack, I don't need you to prove that any more than you already have."

"Yeah, because I love you, and because I want everyone to know I love you," he said.

"It's so strange, the way we want other people to know things like that," she said. "It doesn't matter if they do; it doesn't change anything. I would love you just as much if no-one ever knew, but I still want them to. I want all those girls who look at you and sigh to know you're mine, and they can't touch you. I sound ridiculous, don't I?" she asked. "I sound jealous and awful."

"No. I get it," he said. "It's not about being afraid I'll lose you. It's about being proud of you."

"Yes, I suppose that's it."

Jack paid cash for the rings, two silver bands. They were married in a small church just outside Philadelphia, with only the minister and his wife as witnesses. For an extra $5.00 they could have a picture taken. They gave them $20 and asked for four. In one of them they were looking at each other instead of the camera. That was their favorite.

"Aren't you worried someone you know will see us?" he asked.

Rose shook her head. "I don't care if they do. What can happen now? We're married. We aren't doing anything wrong. They have no reason to bother us."

Jack knew she was right, but he was still nervous when they drove into Philadelphia. They couldn't take her away, but they could find other ways to make their lives difficult. One thing was certain, they wouldn't do any business there. It was much too risky, although, secretly, Jack wanted to find a way to involve Cal in a deal. He didn't usually set his sights on that much money at once, but he would have made an exception for him. It wasn't about the money, though. Maybe, someday, Jack told himself, it would happen. Just for fun. Just to show he could do it.

"Can we go?" Rose asked. "I don't want to go in. I just want to see it one more time."

"Sure we can go."

They had no trouble getting to Rose's old house. They left the car a few blocks away and walked up to it, carefully watching for Ruth or Cal. The people they passed weren't especially interested in them, and those who should have recognized Rose didn't seem to. Her clothes were less elaborate, though no less lovely; her hair was loose. Her cheeks were brighter. But the real change was in her demeanor. She wasn't as defensive. She smiled easily and moved as if she were dancing. Watching her, Jack was reminded of a bird being let out of its cage. At any moment, she looked as if she might raise her arms and fly away. He held her hand, not to hold her down, but so he could go with her.

The house was every bit as grand as he expected. A wrought-iron fence surrounded it. It was three stories high. The windows were large and covered by heavy, dark curtain. It had the appearance of having been recently abandoned. A sign on the gate announced it would be sold at public auction the following week. Tours were being given to potential buyers and the curious.

"Do you want to go inside?" Jack asked.

"No. We shouldn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, maybe just for a minute," Rose said. "I don't know why."

"To say good-bye," he suggested.

They were the last to join the tour. They stayed at the back of the group, not hearing the agent describe the house's many wonderful features. Inside it was warmer than Rose ever remembered it being. Its emptiness startled her. The pictures were gone from the walls. What furniture that remained was hidden beneath sheets. Their footsteps echoed loudly, and she felt a chill despite the heat. It was like being led through a tomb and shown the remnants of its occupant's lives. In the kitchen she saw herself as a little girl, getting snacks and treats from the cooks. She heard herself running up the stairs and her mother scolding. She remembered the hours when she was forced to practice on the grand piano in the parlor.

Rose pulled back the sheet and lifted the lid. The tour had left them behind. No-one noticed they were gone. Jack said nothing as she sat down on the bench and began playing.

"That was beautiful," he said when she finished.

"I haven't played for a long time. Several years. I'm not very good anymore." Rose ran her fingertips over the keys, not pressing down. "We should go," she said.

They never went back to Philadelphia.

…

 _April 1913_

Had it been nearly a year already? It seemed like less and yet like so much more time had passed. They were in Florida then, living in a grand hotel. "We can't stay here," Rose protested when they arrived. "This isn't the place for us. We won't belong."

"Sure we will," Jack said confidently.

"But we don't stay in hotels like this," she reminded him.

"We're celebrating." He pulled her close. "I don't want to do anything for the next week but be with you. I don't want to go get food. Nothing."

"For the entire week?"

"Why not?"

"Are you sure you're up for it?" she teased.

"Absolutely."

If someone had told Rose a year earlier there would be a time when she spent all day in bed she would haven't have believed them. Or she would have assumed it meant she was ill. Terribly ill, in fact. She never expected to find herself making love in the morning, before breakfast, going back to sleep, and then waking up to it again in the evening. Of course, that was before Jack,

They lay tangled in the sheets and in each other, waiting to stop trembling, to breathe normally again. Rose's head rested on his chest. His heart beat under her ear; he was so warm, so solid and soft at the same time. His fingertips moved slowly across her back.

"You've done this a lot, haven't you?" she said.

"Not like this."

"I can't believe that," she said.

"Doesn't make it any less true," he said good-naturedly. "I never wanted to lock myself in a room and stay in bed for days before."

"Not even with your French girls?"

Jack laughed softly. "No. I didn't go to bed with them nearly as much as you think. This—when happens with us, it's different. I don't know why. Maybe because you're my wife."

"It happened before we were married," she pointed out.

"I think you were always my wife. We've always been married, even before this life. In all the others, we were together, and one way or another, we meet again. Don't you feel it?" he asked.

Rose did feel it. She felt the weight of their shared history. The years spent together neither of them could remember and yet both instinctively knew were there. "Maybe sometimes we're switched," she said. "I'm the man, and you're the woman."

"That'd be interesting."

"You'd be a lovely girl," she said, looking up at him. It wasn't too difficult to imagine him as a girl. His hair would be longer, his features just a little softer, his body rounder, but the potential was there.

"I can't see you as a man," he said.

"Why not? Because you wouldn't love me that way?" she said lightly.

"You'd be too beautiful," he replied. "I think I'd still love you," he went on slowly. "If you were still the same person, just in a different body." He looked away from her, afraid he'd said too much. What must she think of him? As if leading her into a life of crime wasn't bad enough.

"It's the soul that matters," she said. "Your body isn't who you are. I love it, but I'd love you even if it changed. If you weren't this gorgeous creature anymore, you'd still be my Jack."

Jack moved so he was looking down at her. Her curls fanned out over the pillow; they were even redder against its whiteness. He touched her face, and she couldn't help feeling he was trying to make sure she was real. She burned when he kissed her, in the way only he could make happen.

…..

It was a simple way of doing business. Rose thought it up herself, and that summer they tried it for the first time. They chose a store that looked successful but not too busy. Only one clerk was there, and fortunately, it was a man. Rose wasn't sure it would work with a woman. Possibly, under the right circumstances, but a man seemed like a safer bet since so much of it depended on her.

She couldn't make herself cry, so she put drops in her eyes. When she burst into the store she looked hysterical. Fake tears rolled down her cheeks. "I lost it!" she cried.

The clerk, a young man, barely twenty, jumped up to help. "Lost what?" he asked.

"My engagement ring. It's gone!" She wrung her hands. "I don't know what I'll do if I don't find it!"

"Where was the last place you had it?" he asked.

"Right outside. It was on my hand, and then it was gone!" she wailed. She looked at him imploringly. "You haven't seen it have you? No-one's turned in a ring, have they?"

She was so pretty and so obviously in need of help. He badly wanted to be the one to put things to rights for her. "No," he said. "But if they do, I can keep it here for you."

"Oh, would you?" Rose touched his hand. "I'd be so grateful. It's worth at least $350."

"Your fiancé must be pretty important."

"He's terribly important," she said. "I know there would be a reward of some kind for whoever found it. Please, keep an eye out." She took a slip of paper out of her purse. "Here's my name and his address," she said, scribbling a name and an address in the next town.

An hour later, after they had lunch, Jack came in, carrying a ring. Had the diamond been real and not made of glass, it would have been as valuable as Rose claimed. To the untrained eye it looked genuine. The clerk spotted it immediately. "Where did you get that?" he asked eagerly.

"Found it outside," Jack answered. He held it up to the light. "Nice, isn't it?"

"Let me have it," the clerk said, moving toward him.

Jack shot him a suspicious look. "Why should I? I found it. It's mine."

"There's a girl looking for it. I promised I'd keep it for her if it was found," he explained. "You gotta let me have it."

"Yeah, but you didn't find it. I did. Why do I care if this girl lost it?" Jack said. "Maybe I got my own girl. Maybe she'd like it. I could never afford to give her a ring like this."

"Please, you gotta understand. This girl was—"

"She was pretty, wasn't she?" Jack said.

"Well, yeah," he said sheepishly.

"Beautiful?" Jack prompted.

"More than that."

Jack couldn't help smiling, proud to hear Rose described that way. He wasn't interested in showing her off, not like an object, but out of all the men she could have married, she chose him, and that was a nice feeling. "Well, this is a pretty valuable ring," he said. "Let's say I let you have it. What'll you give me for it?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's gotta be worth a few hundred," Jack said. "So why should I let you have it for nothing?"

Ten minutes later Jack walked out, whistling, with $200 taken from the register in his pocket. The promise of the reward for finding it had convinced the clerk that taking the money was safe. His eyes were full of Rose's gracefulness and more money to come as he gave it to Jack.

Rose laughed when he got into the care and placed the money on her lap. "So it worked?" she said.

"Like a charm."

"He didn't give you any trouble?" she asked.

"Not really. We should go. It won't be long before he realized you aren't coming back with a reward."

After they had driven a while she asked, "Should we feel guilty about this?" It was the start of a conversation they had had several times before.

"You mean that last job? No. Why? Do you?"

"No," she said. "I just keep thinking I _should_. That boy's going to get into a great deal of trouble."

"He knew what he was doing. If he had any sense at all he'dve looked past how pretty you are and realized he didn't know you and had no reason to trust you."

"Should you need a reason to trust someone?" she said.

Jack thought for a minute. "Maybe you shouldn't," he answered. "But you do. That's the way the world works."

"If we weren't on this side, we'd be on the other," she said. "It's not as respectable here, but I like it better. At least we're honest about what we do."

"Me too. And who said we're not respectable?"

"The landlady at that last place," she said. "Remember?"

"Oh yeah. The one who didn't believe we were married."

"And who thought you should be sent away on a morals charge," she reminded him, laughing.

"I was a little worried she'd call the cops," he admitted.

"Were you really?"

"A little," he said. "Anything can happen."

"I can just see it," Rose said. "The police trying to take you away, me with our marriage license, insisting I'm old enough to be your wife."

"I hope it never happens."

But it did happen, two months later in South Carolina. They were staying in a little town near the beach and driving around to neighboring towns to do business. They were small jobs, widows and lost rings. It was too hot for anything else, and they didn't need much money. More often than not they spent the day on the screened in porch at the hotel. Jack drew while Rose read. As far as everyone else was concerned, they were just a young couple on vacation.

The trouble began when one of the local ministers happened to see them coming back from a day at the beach. Rose's curls were loose, and she wore a pale green dress. It was an old-fashioned style, and it gave her an even more girlish air than usual. Her nose was freckled from the sun, and she swung their picnic basket on her arm. Next to her Jack's boyish handsomeness looked mature. The Reverend Martin was horrified to learn they were married—or calling themselves married.

"That girl can't be more than fifteen," he told Mr. Anderson, the hotel's owner. "And he's at least twenty-five. They can't possibly be married. No-one would give them a license."

"Well, it isn't exactly our business," Mr. Anderson said. "They're not from around here." _And_ , he added silently, _they pay their bills on time and in cash._

"That makes it even worse," the reverence said. "Her family probably has no idea where she is. What father would consent to this? They must be worried sick. Something should be done."

It was Mr. Anderson's intention to warn them, but the police arrived before he could. "Jack," Rose said anxiously as two deputies approached.

"It's alright," Rose." He put a hand on her shoulder. His mind raced. What had they done lately? There had been three widows the previous week, all well out of that county. A lost ring two days before, but that had been too far away. Hadn't it? But no, perhaps it wasn't. They had been there nearly a month; that was far too long. Plenty of time for a complaint to be made, a description circulated. But they couldn't prove anything. That was his only consolation. They could accuse them, but there was no proof. They were out of Bibles and rings. They didn't have a suspicious amount of cash with them. They'd sent a money order off to the bank just that morning.

Jack did his best to sound pleasant. "Can we help you, officers?" He felt Rose's nervousness as the two men looked them over. Her fear matched his own, and he wished there was some way he could reassure her.

"We came to check out a complaint," the taller of the two men said. The name tag above his badge read T. Rogers.

"Oh?" Rose said. "What sort of complaint?"

The other one, an M. Brady, said, "How old are you, miss?"

"What a question!" Rose replied, feigning polite offence. "Don't you know it's rude to ask a lady's age?"

"We need to know," Rogers said. "There've been some accusations made."

"What sort of accusations?" Jack asked, pretending not to know.

Roberts gave Jack a searching look. "How old are you?"

"Are you accusing me of something?" Jack said.

"Should we be?" Brady asked.

"I can't believe this," Rose said. "Are you implying—"

"Why don't we do down to the sheriff's office and straighten this out?" Brady suggested. Rose took Jack's hand; they knew better than to argue.

They kept them for hours. They sat in a tiny room, just waiting. When the officers did come in they ignored Jack. If they wanted him, they could keep him. Who would make a fuss if he were arrested? It was Rose they were really interested in. Up close they saw she wasn't quite as young as the Reverend Martin had claimed, but she still wasn't old enough to be traveling with a man Jack's age, which they had quickly added several years to. Rose sat stiffly in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, answering their questions as briefly as possible. She pretended not to notice the way they looked at her, the way their eyes were like heavy hands on her. She was accustomed to such looks. Jack held his anger in check. The questions didn't bother him that much; he'd been questioned before. It was the way they were treating Rose. And deep down, he was afraid. There was the chance they might not let them go. The police couldn't prove he'd done anything wrong, but then again, he and Rose couldn't exactly prove they hadn't. They had their marriage license, but so what? Who said she was the same girl it listed? No, this was something he couldn't talk his way out of.

Finally, they let them go, but they took half of their money as payment for the trouble of having to question them. As they left, one of the deputies took hold of Rose's arm. She tried to jerk away, but he held her tightly, starting down at her. Jack moved toward him, and he released her, chuckling.

They packed their things and left. It was night by then, but they didn't care. They had only gone a few miles when they saw the headlights behind them. They didn't have to speak; they both knew they were being followed and why. Rose moved closer to him as he sped up. They each held their breath as they raced through the night.

By morning they were across the state line. No-one was chasing them anymore, but Jack had trouble slowing down. He gripped the steering wheel tightly.

"Maybe I should cut my hair," Rose said when they finally stopped for food.

"Why?"

"So I'll look older," she replied. "Maybe that won't happen again."

"It'll happen again," he said.

"How can you be sure? If I didn't—"

"It doesn't matter what you do, Rose. Or what I do. There's always gonna be a man—men, who think because you're—who think they can—" He couldn't get the words out. Anger blocked his throat.

"Do you think they knew about us?"

"Maybe. They definitely knew there was nothing we could do, no-one we could ask for help," he said. "So they had some fun with us."

"What will we do if it happens again?" she asked.

He didn't have an answer. That afternoon, while she slept, he bought a gun.

 **AN: This story won't be linear. It's definitely going to jump around from year to year, and it's going to be more episodic than my others. I hope you all like it!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Winter 1932_

"It's too cold," Jack said. Everywhere they went it was the same. Bitterly cold. Snow. Ice. They were in the heart of the country, and it was frozen solid. Driving was becoming more and more difficult. They had driven during the winter, many times, but when things became this bad they usually found a place to stay for a while, until the worst of it was over. But this time they didn't want to be still; something pushed them forward. They avoided talking about it. Since the night of the shoot-out they only stopped when they had to. They took turns driving, but Jack still drove more often than not. It calmed him. He liked nothing better than to have an empty road ahead of him, one hand on the well, the other on Rose's waist.

"Let's go somewhere warm," Rose suggested.

"Like where?"

"Mexico."

"How would we do any business there?" he asked, half-smiling.

"Who says we have to?"

"We've done nothing for too long already," he replied.

"I doubt that. What about California?"

"That could work," he said.

They had only been there once, in 1917

 _Summer 1917_

Everything was in bloom. The whole world smelled like peaches and oranges. Rose stared at this strange new world through the car windows, eager to be out in it again. Watching her made Jack smile. "Was it this beautiful when you were here before?" she asked.

"No."

"Really? What's changed?"

He reached over and touched her hand. "You weren't here then."

She rolled her eyes. "Jack." But she smiled. "Still trying to win me over?"

"Tryina keep you," he said.

"Where would I go?" She laughed. "My dear, we're stuck with each other."

"That's the idea, isn't it?"

Rose moved closer to him. "What are we going to do here?"

"I don't know. Probably a lotta widows out here. We could drop some rings, some wallets."

"We always do well with dropped wallets," she said. "But there has to be something new we can try."

She was like him; she needed fresh challenges. They liked their usual ways of doing business. Their methods were reliable and didn't bring trouble often. They brought in good, steady money. But that wasn't enough. If money was all they wanted, they could drop a few more wallets and spend the next year or so comfortably doing nothing. But what fun would that be?

The little town they drove through was surrounded by farms, big, sprawling farms with acre after acre of grapes, oranges, and peaches. They were in wine country. Neither of them were drinkers, but they filed away the information until it could be useful. There was money in alcohol.

They kept driving until they reached a small city. A plan was forming in Jack's mind, but it was still only a plain sketch. He needed more information before the details could be filled in. As they unpacked, Rose said, "You're thinking about those farms, aren't you?"

"How'd you know?"

"Because I'm thinking about them too."

 _Winter 1932_

"We can be there in three days, if we try," Rose said. The map was spread out on the table in front of them. They didn't care if other diners saw it. They weren't doing any business in the area.

"Maybe two," Jack said.

"That would be pushing it."

Jack sipped his coffee; his hands were wrapped tightly around the mug. Its warmth spread through him, and he wished it would last. It was like having the summer sun on his back or being in Rose's arms. She was right there, but all at once, he missed her. She caught his eyes. "Jack, what's wrong?"

"You're right," he said. "Let's not push ourselves too much. Let's wait and leave in the morning."

"Alright. We could use the rest anyway and baths," she said.

Rose knew that look. They had both worn it at once time or another. She knew it went along with the way they lived, that aching loneliness that came out of nowhere. They only had each other, and that was enough. But someday, one of them would be left alone. That day seemed to be getting closer all the time now, and when it happened, then what?

…..

Rose filled the tub with hot water. It was almost too hot to touch. Steam filled the room. As she eased herself into it, Jack pulled her onto his lap. "I love you," he said into her neck. His arms encircled her. He didn't touch her; he only held her. She sank against him. "I love you more," she whispered.

 _Summer 1917_

"Don't, Jack, I'm sticky!" Rose cried, laughing.

Peach juice covered her hands. He licked her fingertips. The look in his eyes made her knees weak. The windows were open; warm sunlight filled the room. She breathed in the scent of peaches and Jack's skin. Briefly, he wondered if they could be heard outside, but he dismissed the thought. He didn't care.

 _Winter 1932_

They slept late the next day and woke up warm and refreshed. The chill Jack had been fighting seemed to be gone. After a hearty meal, they set off again. The sky was clear. The sun was bright. It looked like a summer day, but it was still bitterly cold. Rose read aloud as they drove. Sometimes Jack didn't hear what she said, just her voice. It was soothing, especially when she read poetry. Thanks to her, he'd memorized whole pieces of Donne, Millay, and Shakespeare. They were like poets, he thought. Using words to amuse, attract, and trick; using words with skill and precision.

"I can drive for a while," Rose offered, when they stopped again.

"No, I'm fine," Jack said. "We won't stay on the road much longer anyway. It's bad for the car." Really, he meant it was bad for them, and she knew it.

They hadn't gone far when Jack said, "Would you read some more?"

"Sure." She settled against him, glad to have his warm body so close, and read until she couldn't see the page anymore.

 _Summer 1917_

They drove around for a while, getting a feel for the area. Their next venture needed to be connected to the place somehow. Everywhere they went they found a way to do business that matched the place. In Alabama they'd found used cotton for business, or rather, the illusion of cotton. There had to be some way they could use the miles and miles of ripening fruit.

"It's too bad we aren't bootleggers," Rose said.

"Who says we aren't?"

"Well, we aren't," she said. "We never were before."

"No reason we couldn't be," Jack said. "Or why we couldn't look like we are, to the right people."

"But alcohol is legal here," she pointed out. "If we were still in Indiana, it might work. Who would need a bootlegger here?"

"Somebody does," he said confidently. "And we can always find a way to use all this wine."

They watched workers pick fruit from a distance. "We can't do business with them," Rose said.

"No," he agreed. "Wouldn't be right."

If they tried they could get money from the fruit pickers. There was a way; there was always a way. But the poor, the people they might have been were always left alone. Widows didn't count, they said, because in some small way, their scheme brought them comfort. It worked out fine for everyone.

"How much money we got on us?" Jack asked.

Rose knew without looking. "$213.67."

He whistled. "That's a lot to be just carrying around."

"We might need it," she said. "And it's not so much out here. People have more cash out here, haven't we noticed?"

"They do."

"Do you have any ideas yet?" she asked.

"Maybe," he sai9d. "Let's try and get a closer look."

There was a large building where the boxes of picked fruit were taken. The workers received their pat there as well. Posing as fruit pickers wouldn't work. Not only were they not paid enough, but they weren't paid in cash. Instead they were given credit for a store run by the landowner. They looked around a few of these store, careful not to attract attention. Everything cost at least twice what it did in town. "And they'd call us criminals," Rose said disgustedly.

"Let's get outta here, Honey."

Th3ey hit upon an idea not long after. It wasn't unlike their cotton business. The farm owners sold their fruit to buyers who would ship it back East to sell. They provided sample boxes and were given a price based on the samples. The inspector gave them a ticket, which they used to collect their checks. There were at least a dozen buyers in town. The whole system operated on good faith and trust. It didn't occur to those involved that anyone would pretend to have something to sell when they didn't. Jack and Rose were the sort of thing most people didn't guard against, regardless of the situation.

"We'll need samples," Rose pointed out.

"Yeah." Jack was working the problem over in his mind. "Maybe we can reuse on box over and over, you know?"

"We can certainly try."

Rose tied her hair up and covered it with a hat. She wore a plain dress that wouldn't stick in anyone's mind. Jack chose clothes that made him look respectable but not wealthy. He wore a hat and kept his hair away from his face. They snatched a box from a stack in the warehouse and made their way to the line of buyer stalls.

"Hello there," a genial, portly man said when they stopped at his stall.

"Hi," Jack said, grinning. Rose stood slightly behind him, looking pretty and demure. That was the look most men responded favorably to, especially older men. "Got some peaches to sell," Jack said,

"Let's see what you have then," the man said. He carefully looked over their box. "Peaches are going for $0.30 a pound. How many pounds you got?"

"Six hundred," Jack said, doing the math quickly in his head. "Had 'em weight already, on the way in." He tilted his head toward a nearby truck filled with boxes.

"Uh-huh. Well, these are good quality, so I'll take all you got at $0.30 a pound," the man said, writing out a receipt. "Just have them sent over to the warehouse."

 _Winter 1932_

They were in Nevada by the next day. Despite what Jack said they were still moving quickly. It wasn't as cold there, but he couldn't stop shivering. The chill was back, and it was worse this time. Rose felt his head. She frowned. She laid her wrist on his cheek and then his throat.

"Whatcha doin?" he asked.

"Checking to see how you are."

"I don't have a fever," he said. "I'm just cold, that's all. It's all the cold weather we've been in lately." But there was a glassiness in his eyes, and his cheeks were flushed.

"Jack, let me drive for a while," she said.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"Please." Her eyes were concerned and determined.

"After we stop to eat you can drive," he said.

He ate hungrily, but his food tasted like paper. It was hot, though, and that was all he cared about. As they say there, his whole body warmed. His eyes cleared. Rose watched him closely anyway and didn't let him forget his promise to take a break from driving.

"You can get some rest," she said.

Rest did sound good. He was tired, and his body ached. But he refused to let himself lean against her. He held the map, sitting up straight and alert.

 _Summer 1917_

They made $360 that afternoon. Rose carried the money in her purse, as always. Jack laughed as they drove back into the city. "We shoulda come out here sooner," he said.

"It was a good day," she said. "But…."

"What?"

"It seems a bit risky. If all the larger farm owners in the area go to the same place to sell we'll be recognized eventually. Someone will realize we don't belong here."

"You're right," he said. "This isn't like cotton. People aren't drifting in and out the same way. And we can't get a hold of a blank book of slips and go around to different markets, skipping the buyers."

"Or can we?" Rose said.

"You think we can?"

"Why not? Maybe I'm wrong. This is a big state. Surely there are other markets."

"Yeah, but can we use slips from here somewhere else?" he said thoughtfully. "That's the tricky part."

"Getting them isn't the tricky part?"

"Not for us," he said.

They sent their earnings back to their bank in Kansas. "If we're going to be here long, we should open an account here," Rose pointed out. "We may need one."

"Yeah. We'll definitely come back."

"When we're finished with business for a while, let's go down to the beach," she said. "Swim in warm water and lay in the sun."

"And see movie stars," he added.

"We already see them whenever we want for a dime a show," she said, shrugging. "In person they'd be…"

"Disappointing?" he offered.

"Yes," she said. "Like so many other things."

Jack look at her curiously. "Are you unhappy, Rose?"

"No. I'm perfectly happy."

"You'd tell me if you weren't, though," he said. "Right?"

"Of course I'd tell you. Or maybe I'd just empty one of your accounts and run away in the night," she joked.

There was something in his eyes. It looked like fear, but that couldn't be right. Still, she felt bad for saying it. "You can have everything," he said. "It's already yours. You don't have to leave me to get it."

"Jack, I'm not going anywhere," she said. "You know that, don't you?" She put a hand on the back of his neck and tilted his head down, so his face touched hers. "Everything else changes, but not us," she said. "Never us."

 _Winter 1932_

"We're stopping early," Rose said. "I need to stop," she added, to keep him from protesting. Jack couldn't argue either way. Everything hurt too much. Wearily, he nodded. He insisted on carrying their things inside. It was difficult, but he managed it.

Jack sank onto the bed, too exhausted to move. Where had it come from? He pulled his coat tighter against the cold. Rose moved around the room quickly, turning the heat up, getting water and medicine ready. She lifted Jack's head. "Drink this," she said, holding a glass of water up to his lips. "Now, take these." Dutifully, he swallowed the pills and drank again. His eyes hurt, so he let them close. He felt Rose undressing him but could do nothing to help. She tucked him into bed and piled extra blankets on top of his. His skin was hot, but he shivered. Sweating it out seemed like the best cure, if she could only get him warm enough.

Jack slept fitfully. His dreams were strange and too vivid. He woke up more tired than ever. His mouth was dry; his throat hurt. Rose put an arm around him. He leaned against her and rank the soup she offered. He was warm now—too warm. The blankets were heavy. He couldn't get out from under them. He was sweating profusely now. "Rose." His voice was barely a whisper. She washed his face with a cool, damp cloth. It felt wonderful.

"Here, drink this, Jack," she said, holding a spoonful of medicine to his lips. "You'll feel better soon, I promise."

 _Summer 1917_

Charm and intelligence got them everything. They never forgot anything they heard or saw. Their good looks helped. Jack could talk women into anything; it didn't matter their age. Some wanted to marry him; others wanted to mother him.

"You have that sweet, waifish look," Rose often teased.

But he didn't like when Rose's beauty worked to their advantage. It was different, though he couldn't quite explain why. It had to do with power. He always had it. There was nothing a woman could really do to him. He never promised them anything, and the smarter ones figured this out eventually. But it was different for women. Looking at a man was taken almost as a promise of something to come, and men bothered Rose enough already. He wasn't jealous. If she ever felt him he knew it wouldn't be for another man—at least, not just a man; it would be for another life entirely. But he'd try that life if it meant keeping her. After traveling with her for so long, how could he go back to being alone?

So when Rose went over to the clerk to get information, Jack watched. She gave him their slip and waited while he made out the check. "What does all of this mean?" she asked, pointing to the numbers on a blank slip.

"It tells you what number in the stack it is," he explained. He was barely out of his teens, a shy, tall boy. He tried not to look at Rose while he talked. "We get them in these big books, see, and we tear them out. Every buyer gets their own stack. They all get different numbers. Some put a stamp on 'em, like signing them, but they don't have to."

"Really?" she said. "What about other places, do they use these too?"

"Sure. They all come from the same place. There's other markets up and down the state, some in Florida and Georgia."

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

Back at the car she said, "Maybe we can do more with this. We'll need one of those books, though, and maybe a stamp."

"Reckon they got extra," Jack said. "We need more boxes too."

"I'm not sure we should stay here much longer," she said. "I noticed a few people looking at us today."

"Yeah, so did I."

They camped out that night in a clearing far outside of town. They couldn't risk being seen again. Rose was glad for it. The night was beautiful. "We haven't done this in a long time," she said.

"It's nice, isn't it? Look at those stars," Jack said.

She snuggled closer to him. "I can't look at stars the way I used to anymore."

"Me neither."

The next morning they bought three boxes of peaches from a farmer they passed, to use as samples. They paid twice what they knew the peaches were worth because he looked like he needed the money. His wife kept staring at Rose's dress, and she wished she could give it to her.

 **AN: So, I made some things up and borrowed things from books/stories I've read. I have no idea what prices would have been like back then or how the process worked. I just took ideas from** _ **Paper Moon**_ **(especially the cotton business) and** _ **The Grapes of Wrath**_ **—I know it's set in the 30s, but it's the same general area.**


	4. Chapter 4

_Winter 1932_

Jack's head ached; his body was heavy, and it hurt to swallow. He felt Rose holding him and was grateful she was there. He breathed slowly, drifting in and out of sleep. He didn't know how long he'd been sick. Sometimes she was there with soup; other times she had medicine. She had to pour things down his throat now. He tried to stay conscious, but he couldn't. He didn't have the energy. Once he opened his eyes and saw Rose peering down at him, worried and frowning. "I'll be fine," he said, but his voice was barely a whisper. He didn't even know if she heard it.

"Oh, Jack." She pressed his hand to her lips, and he felt her tears. Not being able to comfort her made him feel even worse. _Live. Live. Live._ He chanted silently, as if it might help. He couldn't leave her.

…

"I'm not exactly sure what he has, Mrs. Dawson," the doctor said. "He most certainly has a fever, a rather severe one. It looks like pneumonia, but it isn't. I don't hear any fluid in his lungs. He's breathing just fine."

"Can't you do anything for him?" Rose asked.

"I can prescribe something, but he's not going to get any better until that fever comes down."

"I've been trying to break it," she said, keeping her eyes on Jack. "Nothing I do works. I've brought it down a little, but it never goes away completely."

"Be glad you've kept it from getting too high," he replied. "He would've died already if you hadn't."

Jack heard them through the fog in his head. _I won't_ , he wanted to say. Rose held his hand. It took all his strength to weakly squeeze her fingers. _Don't be afraid,_ he thought, trying to send it to her. _I love you._

 _Summer 1917_

Their peach business went better than they expected. They used up most of the slips and cleared over $3,000 by the time they stopped. They drove down to Los Angeles and found a house on the beach. The owner looked at them suspiciously at first, but after they paid for three months in cash, he felt no need to ask questions.

"What are we going to do now?" Rose asked. They sat on the sand, barefoot, not caring if it got in their clothes. The sun was just beginning to sink, and they had the whole beach to themselves.

"I need to fix some things on the car," Jack said. "I thought I'd do that for a few days. Wanna help?"

"By help, do you mean hand you tools again?"

"No. I mean really help this time," he said. "I want to teach you more about cars. I should've already."

"Why the sudden concern?"

Jack shrugged. "It's something you need to know. One day I might not be around to fix things anymore."

"Of course you'll be around," she said. "Unless you're planning to run away."

"Well, that waitress who served us breakfast was cute, and two blondes do look good together," he said.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Try it, and see what happens."

He gasped dramatically. "Was that a threat? I thought I married a lady, not some girl hoodlum."

Rose pushed him down onto the sand. Laughing, he playfully resisted. "I haven't been a lady in a very long time," she said.

"Sure, you have." He pulled her down with him.

Her hair tickled his face. "Why do you always say that?" she asked.

"Because it's true."

"Then what does that make you?" she said.

"Lucky."

 _Winter 1932_

He wasn't heavy anymore; he was light. Jack felt as if he were floating. Sometimes when he opened his eyes he thought he saw himself in bed. He saw Rose. She was so far below him. He couldn't get back down to her. He was barely connected now; only the thinnest string kept him from floating away forever.

His breaths came slower and shallower now. Rose tried to breathe for him, blowing air into his lungs, hoping her life could be his too. "Live," she whispered. "You can't die yet, Jack. I need you here."

He heard her, but he couldn't respond.

 _Summer 1917_

"So, I use this one?" Rose said, holding up a wrench.

"Yeah. I'll show you how," Jack said.

She watched as he tightened parts of the car she didn't know the names of. He moved quickly, confident in his abilities. He explained it all to her, and she stored the information in the back of her mind, sure she would never need it.

They spent a few days like that, drifting between the beach and the garage. There was no need to do business, and it was too warm and sunny to be thinking about such things anyway. Jack preferred to find a place on the sand and draw. He watched the other beachgoers, imagining their lives as he sketched them. He knew the truth was probably more interesting than anything he could ever make up. But it was still fun.

Rose swam. She threw herself into the water and stayed for hours, not coming out until her body hurt and she smelled like salt. Jack drew her as a mermaid. She laughed when he showed it to her. "What if we _could_ live in the ocean?" she said.

"You'd want to?"

"I don't know. I'd like to try it. It might be nice," she answered. "Just think how beautiful it would be. We could swim down to those islands where the water is turquoise, and it never gets cold. There wouldn't be anything to worry about."

"Are you worried about something?" he asked.

"No. Right now I'm perfectly happy," she said. Her hair shone even redder in the sun; golden highlights were beginning to appear. Freckles dotted her shoulders. They were difficult to draw. She was wearing less than she should have on a public beach, but so far, no-one had bothered them about it.

"Come swimming with me?" she said.

"Oh, Rose, I don't know. I was just gonna stay dry," he said, feigning disinterest.

"I thought you were a good swimmer? Unless that was just something you said to impress me."

"I don't have to do everything I'm good at," he said. "If I get any more impressive you won't be able to handle it," he added, tossing his head arrogantly.

Rose grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. "I think I'll manage."

 _Winter 1932_

Rose was crying. Jack felt the tears on his neck. His eyes opened easily, and he realized he'd forgotten how that felt. He breathed deeply, luxuriating in the way his lungs expanded and filled with air. She didn't seem to notice. She held him, her face pressed into his neck. Jack had a vague impression that he'd gone somewhere. He remembered being on the ceiling, looking down at himself and her, and then, nothing. Something had happened, but he didn't know what. And now Rose was clinging to him and sobbing as if her heart was broken.

Moving his arms was difficult, but he managed to put them around her. His embrace was weak. "It's alright," he said softly. "Don't cry, Rose. Everything's alright."

Rose lifted her head. She stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. "Jack?"

"Yeah, it's me, baby."

"But you're—you—" she stammered. "I thought you were dead."

He grinned. "Sorry. Still here."

Rose hugged him tightly, crying again. "You can't scare me like that again! Do you hear me, Jack? I can't watch you die again, not for a long time, not until we're an old, old couple, and we're both ready for it."

"You think we'll get that old together?"

"Of course we will," she said.

 _Summer 1917_

Eventually they grew restless. The long, sun-drenched days of leisure began losing their charm. They started thinking about business again and looking around for fresh challenges.

"It would be a shame not to use the pictures," Rose said. "We're so close."

"Yeah, but how?" Jack said. "Show business people'd be able to spot us, the good ones, anyway."

"You really think so?"

"Sure. They do the same thing we do. Pretend to be people they aren't. Sell to a public that doesn't even always know it wants to buy anything. Their stories are just like ours," he said. "Illusions for people who know better."

"You sound so cynical."

"I was going for realistic," he replied amiably. "There's nothing wrong with believing in things. It helps you get through the day. Unless you're like us. People like us are the only one who can't have any illusions."

"Does that make us better?" she said.

"If we didn't have each other, I'd say it makes us lonelier," he answered.

They wandered around the city for the next few days, waiting for inspiration to strike. They gathered information the way bees gather pollen; nothing was unimportant. They got as close to the movie studios as possible and watched people going in and out.

"We'll need passes to get in," Jack said.

"We're going in?" Rose said.

"Don't you wanna?" he grinned.

"I _am_ curious," she said.

"We've got to figure out how to get some passes."

"It can't be that difficult," she said. "Not for us."

An opportunity presented itself soon after. They drifted into a nightclub near one of the studious as a wave of workers left for an evening break. They split up, going to opposite ends of the room. They kept the other in sight, but anyone observing would have thought they'd never met. Rose carried their rings in her purse, along with the rest of their valuables.

Rose found a seat in the corner and waited. Men passed by, smiling, clearly interested, but she silently dismissed them all until she found the one she wanted. He was tall, with a head full of thick, dark hair. He was good-looking but didn't seem to realize it. He approached her hesitantly. When she smiled he seemed overwhelmed. "May I sit here?" he asked.

"Sure," she said causally.

"I haven't seen you before. Do you work for the studio?"

"Oh, no, not yet. Maybe soon," she said.

"New in town then?"

"Can you really tell?" Rose said. "Do I look that out of place?"

"No, you don't look out of place. There's just dozens of new girls here every day," he said. "All wanting to be in pictures. But you could really do it."

"Oh, I couldn't. You're just trying to flatter me," she said.

"Sure you could."

"Do _you_ work for a studio?" she asked.

Meanwhile, across the room Jack was making friends with an aspiring actress, a young, blonde, contract player, who so far had only appeared in uncredited roles. She claimed to be 19, but really she was 16, and one glance told him that. He wondered if she was out there alone, and her chatter made him feel protective towards her. She was so child-like. He stole a glance at Rose. _She_ was fine, at least. The man she'd found was too nervous to lay a hand on her. Rose turned her head, ever so slightly, and met his gaze. He leaned toward the girl, and she nodded, ostensibly at her companion.

"Do you want to dance?" Jack asked.

"Sure," she replied eagerly.

The two couples slowly moved toward one another. It wasn't difficult for Rose to slip her hand into her partner's jacket pocket and take out his pass, or for Jack to do the same with his partner's dress pocket. As they got closer, Rose glanced at Jack. He nodded. Without warning, Rose fell, pulling the man down and hitting the girl, who really did fall.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Rose cried. "My feet just got tangled, I suppose. I don't know what happened." She was back on her feet instantly. As her partner reached down to help the girl, Jack took her hand. They slipped away, leaving their partners for each other.

 _Winter 1932_

Jack was weak. He'd lost weight, and he was pale. He couldn't get out of bed without Rose's help. So most of the time he stayed there. He ate ravenously, hot buttery rolls, stacks of pancakes, whole chickens, thick sandwiches. Anything. Everything. No expense was spared. When he objected, Rose ignored him.

"You want to get out of bed soon, don't you?" she said. "Then eat and get your strength back." She pushed his hair out of his eyes. He was so pale. It didn't look natural. Jack wasn't supposed to be pale. He was of the sun. He was life and summer and fresh blooms on trees.

Jack kissed her hand. "Have I thanked you for keeping me alive?"

"I didn't keep you alive. I let you die," she said.

"If I died, you brought me back, Rose."

Jack hadn't told her about everything he experienced during his illness. Now that it was over, he wasn't sure how much of it had actually happened. He was inclined to believe it had all just been the fever. It was all dreams or hallucinations. But Rose was certain he died, and that last time hadn't felt like anything else he'd ever done. Maybe she was right; maybe he had died. It was a terrifying possibility.

Jack realized he'd been planning for them to die together all along. The day would come when they were too old for business and the constant travel, and when it did, they would find a quiet place to spend the rest of their lives. Their money would more than keep then. It would be like one of their vacation times stretched out over years. Now he found himself looking forward to those days, though he feared they wouldn't come.

Rose could survive without him. She would be fine on her own, even if she didn't think so at first. But what about him? What would he do without her?

 _Summer 1917_

Changing the names on the passes was easy. The printer's logo was on the back, so they called in an order for a dozen, for various, made-up people. No fuss was made; the bill was charged to the studio account, and the printer's assistant gave them all to Rose without asking questions. They threw away the stolen passes.

Rose became Gladys Jane, and Jack became Patrick. The only problem was they still weren't sure how to do business with the studio. The actors at the bottom of the heap were too poor, and the promise of instant stardom that brought them to Hollywood in droves was a better scheme than any they could have thought up. It was best to leave those people in peace; they'd been taken enough already.

"Do you think we can handle something this big?" Rose asked, during dinner that night.

"We can handle anything."

Jack's confidence was reassuring, but part of Rose still felt overwhelmed by what they were trying to do. The executives were the mark; they were the money men. They didn't know about acting; all they knew were profits. Many of them were sharp businessmen, but they were counting on arrogance and greed to be their undoing. "But what do they need?" Rose said.

"Whatever we do, it shouldn't be something that'll ruin the city for us," he said.

"This should be where we go when we stop," she said.

"You mean it?"

"Why not? It'll be perfect," she said. "The sun, the beach. We can plant our own fruit trees."

"Do you think about that?" he asked.

"Sure, sometimes. Don't you?"

"Not really." He paused. "Rose, do you ever want any of it now? That life?"

"You mean, settle down somewhere? No more traveling or business?"

"Exactly," he said.

"No." She spoke without hesitation. "You once told me you have everything you needed to be happy with you. Well, so do I. I know it's dangerous at times, but I love the way we live. I don't want anything to change, not for a long time."

It was the answer he'd been hoping for. "You don't ever want kids?" he asked.

The question took her by surprise. It was something they didn't really discuss. Children weren't an option, or so she'd always thought. How could they have them and still live the way they did? What if they were caught for something? Who would take care of their children? It was simply too much risk, especially when they were lucky enough to have each other.

"I don't think about it often," Rose said. "I guess, no, I don't really want them. Or maybe, I don't want them more than I want the life we have already." His expression was hard to read. "Do you think I'm terrible?" she asked.

Jack shook his head. "No, I think you're honest, and I'm glad you are. It's not something we can do if we're not sure."

"Do you want them?"

"Not more than I want what we already have," he said.

 _Winter 1932_

Jack leaned on Rose as they walked around the hotel. They paced the hallway, and when he felt up to it, they went up and down the stairs. At first his legs ached after only a few rounds. Rose massaged the sore muscles. She rubbed his back and put him to bed. Jack wasn't ashamed to need her help. If he couldn't turn to her, who could he turn to?

No-one knew anything about them, except that Jack was an invalid. Their daily walks attracted a few looks and some stories were told about them, all speculation, of course.

Little by little Jack's strength returned. The day came when he could do everything on his own, and they made plans to leave.

"Let's go dancing first," he said, putting his arms around her. "We need a celebration."

"Are you sure you're up to it?" Rose asked. His color had come back, but she worried anyway.

Jack responded by pulling her closer and leaping into a jig. "I'm up for anything," he said, twirling her. He held her against him. "Everything." He kissed her eagerly. Rose sighed softly. 'Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For keeping me alive," he said. "Not just taking care of me but giving me something to live for. You're right. I—I died." It was the first time he let himself say it. "I was gone. Or going. But you brought me back."

"Jack—"

"You kept me here, Rose," he said. "I looked down and saw you, and I felt you. I felt your pain and your love, and I didn't want to go. I remember now. I fought it." He kissed her again, slowly this time.

"Let's go dance then," Rose said.

They didn't know what would happen next, but Jack knew their lives were about to change.


	5. Chapter 5

_Spring 1932_

It was as if winter had never happened. It was already spring in California. Everything was lush and green. The sun shone every day. Jack's health continued to improve, and after a while he couldn't tell he had been sick.

They weren't working. Without discussing it too much they agreed not to. They didn't need the money, and for the time being, the thrill wasn't important either. All Rose wanted was to be with Jack. He was quieter, since his illness. He always seemed to be lost in thought. She wanted to ask about what went through his mind but didn't. When he was ready he would tell her. Meanwhile, they moved down the coast. Things had changed since their last visit. Los Angeles was bigger than ever, and Hollywood had grown more than they ever anticipated.

As they drove past the gates of a movie studio Jack said, "Do you remember when we did that job out here?"

"Of course I remember," Rose answered. "How could I forget? We nearly got caught."

"But we didn't." He grinned. 'And we got the money."

"And that's what counts, right?"

"When we do business, it is," he said. "I know we haven't done anything for a while. What would you say to a few small jobs?"

"I don't mind either way," she said amiably. "If you want to work, we can."

"I want to," he said. Jack didn't add that these might be the last jobs they ever pulled. He hadn't found the right way to discuss the possibility of quitting yet. He was afraid Rose wouldn't want to. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. He wanted _something_ , though; that was for sure.

"What did you have mind?" she asked.

"We could drop a few wallets, maybe do some twenties," he said, shrugging.

"You weren't kidding about small jobs."

"Does that bother you?" he said.

"No."

In a way, Jack liked the small jobs best. They paid off faster, with less risk. "I wouldn't mind getting a better car," he said.

"It's been a while since we got a new car," Rose said. "Do you think it will still work?"

"We can find out, if you're up for it."

Rose smiled. "Let's try it."

….

Dropping wallets was simple. All they had to do was figure out a good location. They drove around for the rest of the day and finally came across a bank that looked promising. It was small and inauspicious looking, but it had steady traffic. A few inquiries yielded that it was the preferred bank for the local commercial famers.

"How much do you think we should use?" Rose asked.

"A thousand."

She shook her head. "That's too much."

"We've done it for that much," Jack argued.

"Those were different times. People were more careless with their money back then."

"You've got a point," he conceded. "How about $500?"

"Let's go with $750," she said.

Jack gave her a surprised look. "Really? That much?"

"We're only getting half," she reminded him. "I think we can get away with $375. If it looks like it's going badly, we'll get out and try again with less."

"Sounds like a good plan," he said. He put an arm around her waist squeezed affectionately. "Did I tell you today I love you?"

"You just did." She smiled up at him.

"I love you. Can you stand hearing it again?"

"Always," Rose said. "I love you, too Jack."

He kissed her hair and held her close. The promise of business the next day carried the usual excitement with it, but Jack found himself looking forward to being finished with it more. He wanted the simple time with Rose more than anything else. He wanted—what, exactly, he wondered, did he want? Jack kept asking himself, but no clear answer ever came. He knew Rose sensed the change in him. He was grateful for the things she didn't say, the questions she didn't ask.

He didn't know Rose had an idea of what he was thinking. It was only a small inkling; she wasn't sure about it. She had begun asking herself similar questions. A memory, long buried, slowly began surfacing. Rose pushed it away, but it remained in the corner of her mind.

 _Fall 1924_

Rose didn't notice the first time her cycle failed. It wasn't always regular. The way they traveled, the unusual hours they kept, the mystery that was her body, all contributed to its unpredictability. When it didn't happen she considered herself lucky, when she thought about it at all. In twelve years she never had any reason to worry about it. They were always careful. They didn't let passion overtake them, not anymore, not since their first days together.

Except they had. Just once, after a difficult bit of business finally came through, and once, she now realized, was enough. It never failed three months in a row. Something was wrong. Or was it? Her hands were cold. Rose wasn't sure how she felt. She couldn't want this, could she? They had always said—but that didn't matter now. They had been talking hypothetically before. This was really happening. Jack couldn't be upset, could he?

"Jack?"

"Yeah?" he said.

"Nothing." She shook her head.

"You sure?"

"Yes, it's nothing," she replied.

Rose watched him drive. He was happy. Things were going well. If she told him—Only, it was a matter of if, not when.

 _Spring 1932_

Rose would be the one who found it. They had tried it before, playing different roles, and it always worked better when she found the wallet. The target for this job was nearly always a man, and they took Jack more seriously.

Dropping the wallet was tricky. She had to carefully time it so no-one noticed her do it. Jack waited nearby, out of sight, ready to step in on cue, or if things went sour.

"Oh!" Rose exclaimed. The man ahead of her stopped and turned around. "Is this yours?" she asked, holding out the wallet.

He checked his pockets. "No," he answered.

"Someone must have dropped it," she said. "What a shame."

"Why don't you look inside?" he suggested, moving closer. "Maybe their name's in it."

"That's a good idea." Her eyes widened. "Oh dear," she gasped. "There's money in here!"

"What? Lemme see." He leaned forward eagerly.

"There must be at least $300," Rose said.

"More than that," he said. He counted it quickly. "There's exactly $750."

"Someone is going to be missing this." Rose shook her head. "We should try and find the owner."

"But how? There's no name. We can't return it."

"But surely we can't keep it," Rose argued. "It isn't ours."

"We found it. Doesn't that make it ours?"

"Does it?" she said. "And actually, I found it."

"Aren't I entitled to some of it?" he asked. "Didn't I get involved?"

"Well, yes, but—" she said, pretending to be flustered.

"So we both have a right to it," he concluded.

"Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't feel right about keeping it," Rose said. Just then Jack strolled around the corner.

"Let's ask that guy," the man said. "Hey, you," he called out.

"Yeah?" Jack said.

"We found this wallet," the man explained. "And we're not sure what to do with it."

"Did you look inside?" Jack said.

"Sure we did. There's no name in it, just money. The lady here wants to return it, but how're we supposed to return it?" he said.

"That's a tough situation," Jack said. "That's an awful lotta money. Seems to me you should at least try and find the owner. It'll be missed."

"That's what I told him," Rose said.

"But how are we supposed to do that?" the man said.

"You could advertise," Jack said. "Put an ad in the newspaper. If it's not claimed in a month, you two split the money."

"What do ya say?" the man said.

Rose frowned. "I don't know."

"Even if we split it, there's still a lot of money," he said. "Think about what we could do with it."

"Alright," Rose said. "Let's try it. Where are we going to keep the money in the meantime? I don't know you. You might take it all."

"I wouldn't do that, miss," he said. "And I could say the same thing about you."

"What if you put the money in an envelope," Jack said. "And you both put half in with it, for good faith, see? And then you lock it up in a safe place."

"What sort of safe place?" Rose asked.

"How about a safety deposit box?" the man said. "Like in the bank there."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Jack replied.

"And we'll leave the key here," the man went on. "And we both have to be here to get it. That way we know neither of us'll come back and steal all the money."

"I resent the implication," Rose said. "But that sounds fair."

As they filed down to the safety deposit boxes, Jack slipped the envelope with the money out of Rose's hand and replaced it with an identical one, filled with cut up newspaper. He slipped the real one into his pocket. Twenty minutes later, it was over. He and Rose met up a few blocks away.

"We should do it the other way next time," she said, getting into the car. "It's simpler."

"You think he would've given us part of it up front?" Jack said.

"If we'd used more, maybe," she replied.

"You aren't nervous, are you?"

"I don't know. I'm something," she said. "I kept thinking it would go wrong. I haven't thought like that in years."

"Do you wanna quit?" he asked.

"What?" The question startled her."

"For the day," Jack said. "$350 isn't bad for an afternoon's work."

"Oh. Sure," she said. "We can quit for the day if you want to." For a moment Rose hoped he meant forever, and for a moment, he hadn't.  
…

The next morning Rose's anxiety was gone. When Jack brought up doing business she agreed readily. "It will be good to get back in the habit," she said. "I think that was my problem yesterday. It's been so long since we worked, I forgot what it was like."

"Doesn't seems like that long, though, does it?" he mused.

"You were sick for a long time."

"Not that long," he said.

"Long enough," she replied.

"You wanna drop another wallet?" he asked.

"We should find a new location if we do," Rose answered. "And wear hats."

"Yeah," he agreed. "We definitely need to go to another part of town."

"It's too bad I don't have a wig."

"And hide that hair?" Jack said. " _That_ would be a crime."

Rose laughed. "But it would make me less recognizable. That matters more, doesn't it?'

"No," he said. He moved his fingertips through her curls. "I'd hate seeing you without red hair."

"It won't always be red," she pointed out. "Someday it will fade to white."

"But mine'll match by then," he said. "I just…."

"You don't want it to change."

"Something like that," he said.

"Jack, do you—" She cut herself off. "Nothing."

"What?"

"It's nothing, really," she said.

They looked at each other, the weight of their unspoken words hanging over them.

 _Fall 1924_

Rose had to tell him soon. If she didn't he would figure it out on his own, and that would definitely upset him. She hated how nervous it made her. This was _Jack_. She could tell him anything. Or she thought so, before this.

He noticed the change in her mood and her drawn expression, but she shrugged off his questions. He accepted her answers but wasn't convinced by them. Something was bothering her, but what? Why wouldn't she talk about it?

Jack reached over and took her hand. "What if we just do widow business for a while?" he said. "That way we can stay out in the country and watch the leaves change." She loved autumn. She always got excited when it came around, and the prospect of leaf gazing never failed to make her smile. But when she smiled it didn't reach her eyes. Jack was at a loss as to how to change it, so he tried pretending he didn't notice. He wasn't sure if that made it worse or not, but asking wasn't helping.

"Rose, if something's bothering you," he said. "If I did something, tell me."

"You didn't do anything," Rose said.

"Are you sure? Because lately you've been…unhappy, I guess. I just want to know why."

"I'm fine, Jack. I've just been tired. I haven't felt well. That's all," she said. She tried to hide most of her symptoms from him. Had she not been careful enough? Did he suspect? Jack gave her hand a squeeze. "Alright," he said.

…..

That night Rose woke up suddenly. For a second she couldn't remember where she was. They traveled so much it was hard to stay oriented, even at the best of times. She looked around the small room. It was like the others. Closet. Window. Bureau. Wash stand. Double bed. This one had a rug. They didn't all have rugs. And it had a mirror. They didn't all have mirrors either.

She looked up at Jack. He slept soundly, one arm around her. She touched his face, lightly, so as not to wake him. Rose was afraid she would cry. Her feelings were so muddled—love, fear, joy—and so strong. She thought she felt the baby, but that wasn't possible. Even she knew that. Soon, thought, she would feel it. Soon, there would be no hiding it.

Silently, Rose promised to tell him in the morning.

She woke up, the resolution in her mind, but the chance to act on it never came. Something was different. Something was wrong, and she knew she wasn't imagining it.

Rose saw the blood before she felt it. She stared at the bright drops on the floor, marveling at their color. And then she went numb. All she could think was, at least Jack wasn't there. At least he wouldn't know.

…

Rose was in bed when he came back. "I didn't mean to be gone so long," he said. He closed the door with his foot. He carried two large bags in his arms. "I got us breakfast," he explained. "And some other things. I can run back down and get coffee, if you want. I got a newspaper, too, and I was talkin to some people who said—" Jack stopped, noticing her for the first time. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing." Rose's voice was hollow. Her skin was paler than usual. She lay wrapped up in the blanket. She was cold to the touch.

Jack brushed the hair away from her face. "Are you sick?" he asked. "You're not alright. I can see you aren't. Don't say you are, Rose."

"I'm sick," she said. "I feel awful."

He knelt by the bed. "What do you need me to do?"

"There's nothing you can do. I'll be over it soon. In a few days. I just need rest," she said.

"Can you eat?"

"Not right now. Maybe later."

"Do you want some tea?" he offered. "It might warm you."

"Tea would be nice," she said.

But when he brought it to her she didn't drink it. Rose managed a few sips before setting it aside. Jack brought a blanket in from the car and covered her with it. "Gotta stay warm," he said. She nodded slowly, barely hearing him.

Her eyes were heavy. Jack saw pain in them but didn't know where it came from. She had been fine the night before. Well, compared to the way she was now she had been fine. What was wrong? Her mood had been going down for weeks, a few months really, and she always seemed on the verge of telling him something. What was it? When he looked at her, she looked away. They didn't even sleep the same way anymore. There was more space between them now. She didn't lay her head on him anymore.

"I love you," he said. He didn't know what else to say.

Rose put her hand over his. It was ice-cold. He covered it with his other hand.

"I love you," she whispered. Talking hurt. Her throat was too full for words. She wanted to cry. Maybe it would help. But he would see, and he would ask why. He would figure it out. That couldn't happen. It was better for him not to know, now that it was over.

"Are you sure there's nothing I can get you?" he asked.

"I'm sure. Jack, would you…"

"What?"

"Would you hold me?" she said. "Please?"

"You don't have to ask," he said, climbing in bed next to her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her. She curled up against him, laying her head on his shoulder. She shivered; his warmth made her feel even colder.

Slowly, he rubbed her back. "That bother you?"

"No," Rose said. "It's nice." She closed her eyes, shutting away the tears. Jack didn't know, and eventually, she told herself, she wouldn't know anymore either.


	6. Chapter 6

_Spring 1932_

Crime was everywhere. The newspapers. The movies. The radio. There were entire magazines devoted to outlaws and bandits, both real and imaginary. Half the country wanted to see them punished, while the other half cheered hem on. They shot and robbed their way from place to place, never stopping for long. Their numbers seemed to increase every day. The whole situation made Rose's stomach turn.

 _We aren't like them_ , she told herself. The morality, or lack thereof, as some might say, of their life wasn't the problem. It never had been. Some part of her still responded like a well-brought up girl, even after all these years. She recoiled from their fellow outlaws because of their vulgarity. She never would have admitted it, but that was how she saw them, with their guns and expensive clothes and wild lifestyles.

She and Jack were different. They did business, sure, but they went about it correctly. They didn't draw attention to themselves. They didn't pull guns on people. They didn't take hostages. She looked over at Jack as he finished checking his gun. The clip went back in with a sharp _click_. Yes, he carried a gun, but that was different. It was for protection. He would never shoot anyone. He'd aimed it at a few men, but she doubted whether he would really pull the trigger. Jack simply wasn't that kind of man.

He held the gun for a moment before putting it away. He _was_ that kind of man, and he knew it. If the situation called for it, he would be.

…

"Do you want to do any business today?" Rose asked. They had been driving around aimlessly for two hours.

"Not really," Jack said honestly. He looked at her for a reaction. She almost looked relieved.

"Are you sure?" she said.

"Yeah. Unless you want to?"

"No," she replied. "I don't want to."

They were thinking the same thing, only neither of them could say it. It had been this way for weeks. They pulled small jobs here and there, but they didn't have any passion for it anymore. They barely tried. They both wanted the other one to bring it up first.

"What do you want to do then?" Rose asked.

"I wanna live there," Jack said, pointing at a house. He brought the car to a stop. It was a bungalow with an orange tree in the front yard.

"It's nice," she said. "Just big enough."

"You and me and…." He trailed off.

"And?" she prompted.

"Nothing. I don't know what I meant."

A baby, he was going to say. Rose knew it, but she wanted to hear it from him. She wasn't sure what she would do if he did bring it up. The memory kept getting closer. It pressed down on her, sharp as a knife.

Jack didn't know. He couldn't know. She never said anything about it. She had been sick; that was all he knew. He hadn't asked too many questions at the time, accepting it was some kind of womanly ailment. He was always understanding when it came to that sort of thing, more so than Rose expected.

He didn't know, and he would never know.

 _Fall 1924_

Jack knew. Not at first, but after a few days he figured it out. Something clicked, and he realized Rose was suffering more than she let on. Whatever was wrong, it was much worse than she wanted him to see. The physical side of it was very real. She was in pain. She was weak and bleeding. That couldn't be hidden. He did his best to care for her, tucking her into bed, bringing her food, books, tea, and flowers. She responded to none of it. The only time she seemed to care about anything was when he held her.

She slept curled up against him. Jack watched her, his arms tight around her. She whimpered. It sounded like she was crying. In that moment, he knew. There was nothing he could do about it. Mentioning it just seemed cruel. She didn't want to talk about it, clearly.

He wondered what it would have been like, having a child. Would it look more like Rose or more like him? If they had one, would more come later? Jack tried not to think about it. Rose was trying to forget. He should too. He couldn't, though. Briefly he considered the possibility of doing business with a child along. It wouldn't be impossible—difficult, yes, but not impossible. They could teach their child all their tricks. He or she would grow up with a natural aptitude for the trade. Would that be so bad?

The answer was yes, and Jack knew it. They couldn't travel constantly with a baby. Babies needed a routine, stability. They couldn't sleep in cold cars. They couldn't sleep outside on damp nights.

After about a week Rose began coming around. She still wasn't herself, but she was eating without prompting from Jack. She was out of bed and dressed. Her eyes were heavy; her voice hadn't lost its hollowness, but Jack remained optimistic. She would be alright, eventually.

 _Summer 1932_

They recognized them immediately. The group walked into the diner—or rather, strode into it—as if they owned it. The men wore well-cut suits and hats. The women were clad in silk dresses, their hair freshly set. They all had an air of frivolity and affluence, though anyone who looked closely could see it was a mask. Their eyes were anxious. They never stopped looking over their shoulders.

Rose tensed when they passed. "Don't worry," Jack said quietly. "They won't do anything."

"I don't like them being so close."

"I know. I don't either," he said.

"Do you think everyone else can tell?" she asked.

"Maybe. They may just think they're movie people, silly kids with too much money."

Rose's tone was sardonic. "What's too much money?"

"I'll let you know when we've got it," he replied.

"Jack, if we can tell about them, do you think—"

"No," he said quickly. "They can't tell about us."

"How can you be sure?"

"We're not like them. You know that," Jack said.

"What if we are?"

"We aren't," he said.

"Jack."

He met her eyes. "What is it, Rose-Petal?" He wanted her to say it. All he needed was for her to say it. This would all be over if she would just say the words.

"Nothing," Rose said, shaking her head.

"Right."

They passed the group on their way to the car. One of the women looked at Rose. Her gaze was intense, as if she recognized her. Rose tried to look away, but something drew her to this girl. She was tiny; she looked like a doll next to the others. One of the men, the leader from what Rose could tell, was nearly as short. When they stood next to each other, they didn't look so short; they looked normal. The others, two more couples, dwarfed them.

Rose saw longing in the girl's eyes, and a kind of desperation she'd felt herself. It was the desperation that sent her to Jack and then sent her off with him. Underneath that, Rose saw resignation. This girl knew what her life was, what it would always be now.

"C'mon, Bonnie." It came from the leader. He spoke with a syrupy Texas drawl. "We're leavin, honey." Bonnie frowned. He'd used her real name, and that was dangerous. Intuitively Rose understood this. She wanted to say something, but what?

Rose would read about their deaths, later, this couple, and remember seeing them. She would remember Bonnie's eyes, so like her own, and hold tightly to Jack, shielding him against the bullets she feared lay in their future.

…

"Were you serious about that house?" Rose asked.

Jack looked at her. "What?"

"The one we saw earlier. Did you mean what you said about it?"

His heart beat faster. Was she finally going to say it? "If I did?"

"I was just curious," she said.

"No reason?"

They looked at each other. The silence was thick. _Don't make me,_ Rose pleaded silently, as he pleaded for her to. "If you did," she said, unable to bear it any longer. "I—" The words wouldn't come out.

"Rose, do you want me to mean it?" he asked.

"If I did?" she said.

"Then I would." Jack touched her hand. "Do you want me to?"

Rose nodded. Relief washed over her.

 _Fall 1924_

"We don't hafta leave," Jack said. "We can stay a few more days."

"We should go," Rose said. "I want to. We've been here too long already."

"Alright."

They packed their things, and when they were gone, no-one could tell they had ever been there. Rose was glad about that. She was glad to be leaving. As they drove out of town she felt herself getting lighter. She rolled down her window; the cool air rushed in over her face. She closed her eyes and leaned into it. This was more cleansing than a dozen hot baths.

When they hit the country roads Jack sped up. He wasn't worried about being stopped. Cops never came this far out unless they had to, and besides, they hadn't done anything. The gun he carried was perfectly legal.

He leaned back. The world was red and gold. All around them leaves blazed, neatly painted for the fall. Rose half-smiled as she drank it in. Jack let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"It's gorgeous, isn't it?" he said.

"Yes." Was it his imagination, or was her voice brighter than it had been? "I wish it wasn't too cold to sleep outside," she added.

"That'd be nice," he agreed. "Where, uh, where do you wanna go now?"

"It doesn't matter," she said. "Anywhere, as long as it's away from where we were. Far away."

"I can do that."

 _Summer 1932_

It had been said, but now they didn't know what to do. They were awkward with one another. For the rest of the day they barely spoke. What they managed to say was overly polite and superficial. They avoided each other's eyes. Rose felt guilty for what she said. Jack's guilt came from pushing her to say it. They couldn't just be happy it was out there. They wouldn't let themselves; that would have been a betrayal of everything they'd lived by for twenty years—even longer, in Jack's case. They both feared it was too late for a change, no matter how badly they wanted it.

"Thank you," Rose said, as he set her bag down.

"You're welcome."

She brushed her hair even though it didn't need it. It was better than doing nothing. Across the room, Jack was taking his clothes out of the suitcase and hanging them in the closet. "I'll do that," she offered.

"You don't have to."

"I don't mind," she said.

"I know."

Rose stepped toward him. "Jack." She held out her hands. "What's happening?"

"I don't know," he answered. "We—We can't live like this anymore, can we?"

"I don't know why we can't," she said half-heartedly. "Nothing has changed." Except it had. The world had changed, and they had changed along with it.

"I never thought…I didn't expect this to happen," Jack said. "I didn't want it to happen. I liked things the way they were."

"So did I."

"Ever since I died—" Rose winced at that word. "I haven't been the same," he said. "I thought I was at first, but I'm not. Rose, I don't want this anymore."

His words chilled her. "Does that include me?"

"What?" he said incredulously. "Why would you ask that? You're the only thing I _do_ want."

"I'm part of this life, Jack. You've been living it with me for twenty years. You may not want me along when you go straight. I might be a reminder."

"You can't really believe that," he said. "Rose, if you don't know how much I love you—"

"I don't know anything anymore. I'm sorry. I wish I did."

"Neither do I."

"Is that what you want, for us to find a house somewhere and settle down?" she asked. "Retire from our life of crime?"

"I don't know," Jack replied. "Maybe. Yes. Do you want that?"

"I want to be still for a while," Rose said. She spoke slowly, the realization fully hitting her. "I want to unpack our things and leave them that way. I want a corner to read in and another for you to draw in. I want you to draw as much as you used to."

"That sounds nice."

"Do you think we can have peace somewhere? Do you really think we won't always worry about being recognized?"

"Why should we be? We've never done anything that big," he said. "We've never made headlines. We never hurt anyone, and we drift from town to town. No-one's ever noticed us. Who's gonna care if we stop a little earlier than we planned?"

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Rose looked into his eyes. "You won't regret it in a month?"

"I might, but you might too. Maybe we'll realize it was a mistake, pack up, and head out again." Jack answered. He shrugged. "What'll it hurt to find out?"

"Nothing, I suppose."

"It'll be a whole new kind of adventure for us," he said.

…..

They didn't do anything at first. They waited for the other to change their mind. The future had always been a page waiting to be filled in, but this was different. This uncertainty was overwhelming. Jack didn't know how they would fill the rest of their lives. What would they do all day?

"We don't need to work," he said.

"Jack, we haven't needed to work for a long time," Rose reminded him. "We've done it anyway."

"That was different."

"Was it?"

"You think we should anyway?" he asked.

"I don't know. It might look suspicious if we don't. How will we explain where our money comes from?" she said.

"We'll say we inherited it."

"Do you think people will believe that?" she said.

"Why not? People've been believing us for years."

"We'll use our real names?" she said.

"Do you think we shouldn't?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"We never used them when we did business," Jack said.

"But it's a lot of exposure," Rose pointed out. "We'll be traceable."

"Only if we want to be, and who's gonna come looking for us?"

They didn't get the house Jack wanted, but they found a similar one. The neighborhood was quiet and near the beach. Most of the residents were young couples or families. The real estate agent mistook them for newlyweds; their ages were so difficult to read. "This is a perfect choice for a couple just starting out," he explained. "You'll have plenty of room for children."

"That's good to know," Jack said.

"Yes, it is," Rose agreed.

There were two peach trees in the backyard. They looked at each other and laughed when they saw them. Jack plucked an early peach and handed it to Rose with a flourish. "For you," he said.

She laughed again. "Thank you."

"If that's not a sign, I don't know what is," he said. "We can sell peaches again, legitimately this time."

"I doubt we'll have enough to make it worthwhile." Rose bit into it. "It's good," she said brightly. "That's another sign." She offered it to him. "Try it."

"You're right," he said. "It _is_ good. Add that to the signs."

They bought the house. No mortgage, no loans, just cash. The agent and the bank were so delighted the price was lowered slightly.

They unpacked the car completely. It was an odd sight once it was finally empty. There was more room than they remembered. Everything they owned was in a pile in the living room. It hardly took up any space at all.

"Is this everything?" Rose said.

"That's everything," Jack replied.

Jack's art supplies. Full sketchbooks. A box of books. A few magazines, a newspaper. Blankets. A lantern. Matches. Candle stubs. A basket with books supplies. Three suitcases. A toiletry case. Twelve "Deluxe Edition" Bibles and a set of engraving plates. A stack of maps. A portable radio. A gun. A sewing kit.

Rose wondered how they would ever fill an entire house.

"We don't have anywhere to sleep," Jack said. "I hadn't thought about that."

"We—" Rose stopped. Beds weren't something they were worried about. Every room had one already. They weren't always the best, but they were there. During the summer they often camped out, making a bed even less important. "We could sleep in the car," she said.

"That might not be a good idea. We'd have to drive out to keep people from seeing."

"Do you care if they see?" she asked.

"I don't want to do this the wrong way," Jack said. "We shouldn't draw attention to ourselves."

"What should we do then?"

Going to a hotel didn't seem right. That was their old way of living. If they went, they might stay.

"What if we slept outside?" Rose suggested. "In the backyard? There's a fence. Who will see us?"

"That's not a bad idea, Rose."

The stars burned brightly above them. They lay in each other's arms, dreaming of the life they would have. Bringing it into reality, however, wouldn't so that simple.


	7. Chapter 7

"How about that one?' Jack said.

"That is rather ornate," Rose said. "Are those cherubs?"

"I don't want to sleep with cherubs staring at us. How about that one?"

"No, no, I want to look at the cherubs a little more," she said, grabbing his hand. "It's such fine craftsmanship."

"It's a little creepy, Rose," he said.

"They'll watch us sleep."

Jack shuddered. "No. Really, Rose, no."

"Jack," she whispered in a sing-song tone. "Jack, we see you." She ran her fingers up his back. "We're coming to get you."

He jumped away from her. "Rose, stop."

"Jack," she taunted.

"I'm gonna have nightmares now."

Rose laughed. "I'll be there if you do." She put her arms around his neck. "And I'll protect you from the scary cherub ghosts."

"Promise?"

"I promise," she said.

Their lips met. They didn't care if the rest of the world watched. Being seen no longer mattered. They could attract as much attention as they wanted. Their giddiness kept misleading people into thinking they had just been married, and they didn't always bother correcting them. They felt like they'd just married. The headiness of those early days was back in full force. Rose never wanted to be away from him; she never wanted to stop touching him. Jack couldn't stop looking at her. He sketched her incessantly, taking up whole sheets of paper, the backs of receipts, envelopes, whatever was handy.

It wasn't fear pulling them together anymore. They were, to both their amazements, just happy. When was the last time, Jack wondered, they felt happy, with nothing else attached? No restlessness, no anxiety, no short-lived elation at a completed job?

"Fine. I'll be serious," Rose said. "I like that one."

"The white one, really?" Jack surveyed the bed. "Well, there's no terrifying faces carved into it, but I think it'll work."

Rose took a slip of paper from her purse and crossed something out. "Only about a thousand other things left to get," she said.

"We're making progress," Jack said cheerfully.

….

"What if we got a cat or something?" Rose said. They walked at a leisurely pace, arm-in-arm. The other pedestrians nodded at them; a few smile, but no-one took much notice pf them. Rose took this as a sign that they fit into this world. They were taken for regular people; people who had always lived this way.

"A cat?" Jack said curiously.

"Or something. It could be a dog. A goldfish."

"I'm not sure a goldfish would be that worthwhile," he said. "They just kinds swim in a circle. They're pretty but not interesting."

"What pets do you like?" she asked.

"I had a dog once, when I was a kid. I also had a pig, for a while, but that ended badly."

"Jack, tell me you didn't eat him."

Jack nodded. "We did. I didn't know what was going to happen when I named him. I was only five. I hadn't quite figured out where the bacon I had at breakfast came from. Or maybe I didn't want to know."

"That's so sad," Rose said.

"It could be worse."

"How?"

"We coulda eaten the dog," he said. "He slept with me. Can you imagine how that would've gone?"

Rose stared at him. "I can't tell if you're joking."

"Sorry," he said. "It went too far. So, a cat?"

"Or something. We don't have to figure it out now." She looked at the list. "We still have dishes, chairs, curtains, tables—everything," she said. Sighing. "We have everything left to get."

"Curtains next," Jack said. "Privacy is important."

"What do we, a nice, newly married couple have to hide?"

"I can think of a few things," he said mischievously. "We just got that new bed, after all. We've never had our own bed."

"Are you implying something, Mr. Dawson?" She tilted her head to the side. "I am a respectable married lady, you know."

"I know you are, Mrs. Dawson," he replied. "That's why we need those curtains."

…..

Rose looked around the living room. "It's starting to come together, isn't it?" The curtains were a soft blue. They found a rug to match. They didn't have a touch yet, but there were two chairs. The radio had been placed on the bookcase. Rose's books already filled the shelves. Jack's art supplies covered the coffee table. A few of his drawings were in frames, waiting to be hung up.

"It's not bad for just two days," Jack said. "You really think we should hang those up?"

"Of course. I love them, and we can't have bare walls. Who wants to look at that?"

"We could get something by a _good_ artist," he suggested.

"We'll get something by _another_ good artist, later," she said. "You—" The doorbell interrupted her. "Who could that be?" she wondered.

Jack's eyebrows knitted together. "I don't know." He motioned for her to stay back as he opened the door. Her heart skipped a beat. What if—No, that was absurd. No-one knew them. They hadn't done anything.

A cheerful blonde couple greeted them. They looked young, maybe mid-twenties. She carried a pie. Jack's mouth softened into a smile, and Rose let herself breathe. "Hi," he said, holding out his hand.

"We just wanted to come meet you," the woman said. "I'm Julie. This is my husband Max." He nodded and shook Jack's hand.

"I'm Jack Dawson. This is Rose, my wife." He put his arm around her. "Nice to meet you," Rose said. "Won't you come in? We aren't quite finished yet," she added apologetically.

"It looks nice so far," Julie said. She offered Rose the pie. "I baked this earlier. It's sort of a welcome gift."

"Thank you," Rose said, smiling. "We don't have much in the house right now, I'm afraid. I could make some coffee, if you like."

"That sounds fine," Julie said.

"Why don't we go into the kitchen?" Jack suggested. "There's more places to sit in there."

The kitchen was an airy room. The round table held four chairs. They took seats as Rose put the coffee on. She handed around slices of pie and wondered if that was the correct thing to do. Surely it was. They brought it as an excuse to sit and talk. Why should that seem odd to her?

Did they know this was the first time they ever had guests, not just in this house, but ever? She glanced at Jack. He was talked easily. His natural charm had taken over, as always. As Rose poured the coffee it occurred to her this was how their lives would be from now on. She liked that prospect even more now that it was actually happening.

"I'm between things right now," Jack said, choosing his words carefully. "I'm an artist."

"Really? You do anything we would've seen?" Max asked.

"No, probably not," Jack replied. "I did some commercial work, back East, but nothing big. I've some things here and there. It's not much, but it's enough."

The night before they had gone over their story, checking for holes, and Rose was glad they had. Of course, anything sounded believable when Jack said it. She noticed Julie sneaking glances at him and wanted to laugh. Max was a good-looking man. His hair was lighter than Jack's; his eyes were a deep hazel, and he was well-built. His hands weren't impressive though. She watched Jack's move as he talked. No, she didn't blame Julie from looking at Jack. Who wouldn't?

"I see you don't have any children," Julie said.

"No," Rose said. "Not yet."

"Neither do we," Julie said. "Not yet anyway. We got married last year. How long have you been married?"

Rose hesitated. This was the part they'd had trouble with. Being taken for newlyweds was nice, and that was how they felt, so why not go with it, Jack reasoned. She disagreed. "We won't seem that way after people get to know us," she argued. "And why make things more complicated than they have to be?"

"We'll have to account for twenty years."

"We'll have to account for that either way, unless we lie about our ages," she pointed out.

"Twenty years," Rose answered. Jack's knee touched hers under the table. She oressed her leg against his.

….

When they were gone Rose stacked the dishes in the sink. Jack ran the water, and together they washed them. "This is the first time we've washed dishes indoors," she said.

"Would you rather we weren't indoors?"

"No, I like this," she said.

"First time we've had neighbors too," Jack said. "I wasn't expecting them to come over like that."

"Neither was I. It made you a little nervous, didn't it?"

"At first," he said. "I don't know who I expected to be at the door, but when the bell rang….I wasn't sure what to do."

"What scared me was when they started asking questions. They were perfectly normal questions, nothing we should be threatened by. We went over everything; we decided what we would tell people, and yet…"

Jack put his hand over hers. "I know."

"This is going to be so much harder than we thought, isn't it?" she said.

"I think so," he said. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"No. Are you?"

"No."

"What else is on the list?" Rose asked.

…

They cooked dinner together. It was strange eating hot food they prepared themselves, indoors, sitting at a table. So far, everything they'd done was strange and unfamiliar. Rose kept expecting to see a map or a newspaper in Jack's hand, and for the conversation to turn to business, but it didn't. The box of Bibles was hidden in the back of the closet, along with the engraving plates. They weren't doing business anymore. They wouldn't do business again, Rose reminded herself.

"So, you think we should get jobs?" Jack said. "To look less suspicious."

"I thought you weren't worried about that."

"Maybe I am after all," he said. "It couldn't hurt, I guess. It's give us something to do."

"Isn't it odd to be sitting still?" she said. "Last night I couldn't sleep. It was too quiet, too still. I didn't hear anyone outside. We weren't driving."

"I know what you mean. I had trouble sleeping too."

"Jack, why didn't you say something?"

"I didn't want to bother you. I thought you were asleep," he said/

"I thought you were," she said. They looked at each other and laughed. "This is silly," she said. "I feel as if we're doing something wrong."

"Even though we're doing things right for the first time."

"What does that mean?" Rose said. "Right?"

"Legally then," Jack said. "Within the boundaries set by society. Acceptably. Respectably."

"That rhymed."

"Maybe I'll become a poet," he said. "I got all that talent with words. It has to go somewhere."

"Or maybe you can be an artist."

"Rose, do you really think I can do more than sell drawing for ten cents apiece?" he said.

"Sure I do, and it's been a few decades. You'll have to raise the price to at least fifty cents," she replied. "Unless you plan to draw faster to make up the difference."

"But there's a Depression," he pointed out. "Wouldn't be fair to overcharge people."

"What about the people with money? We never had any problem charging what they could afford."

"Yeah, but we aren't in business like that anymore," he said. "And it's not like we need the money. We just need something to pass the time."

"Are you worried about that?"

"A little," he admitted. "Aren't you?"

"A little," she said. "We're almost finished with the house, and then…" She looked around. "I don't know what comes next."

"Rose, have you thought about…" Jack faltered. He wasn't sure why he couldn't say it. They shared everything. No topic was off-limits. A memory flashed before his eyes, Rose in bed, exhausted and sad, his efforts to comfort her, and he knew why he couldn't say it.

"I've thought about it," Rose said. "I don't know. Have you…thought about it?" She knew he had, but she needed to hear him say it. Part of her wanted him to make the decision for the both of them. If he said it, she could agree; she could want it without feeling as though she were asking too much or feeling all of the guilt if something happened. But it wouldn't, she told herself. Not again. Whatever went wrong back then had been her fault. She knew that. It was something she did or something she didn't do. It had to be. There was no-one else to blame.

Jack squeezed her hand. "Yeah, I have," he said softly. "It might be nice. If you want to."

"Let's see what happens," she said.

…

They didn't buy anything expensive for the house. Even now, they didn't want to throw money around. By the next week it was furnished, and they looked like the sort of people who had always lived in one place. If Rose hadn't known better, she would have thought they had always lived there. Jack wasted no time getting a California license place. There was no reason to think their car was traceable, but it wouldn't hurt to blend in more. Most of the people on their street had cars, but theirs was slightly better. Anyone who compared them would have realized they bought theirs new, or rather, had acquired it new. It was a couple of years old, but Jack's meticulous care had kept it in pristine condition, despite the thousands of miles they'd driven since getting it.

Mostly they observed the people around them, out of habit, but also to better acclimate themselves to this new world. Most of the women, Rose noticed, didn't have jobs. The few who did were young and had no children. Rose wondered where she fit into things. She worried the neighbors were talking about them, speculating about this strange, new couple that suddenly moved into the neighborhood. They were too old not to have children, especially if they intended to. The other women _must_ have something to say about that.

But they weren't that old, and she knew it. They didn't look their ages, at least, not from what she could tell. Her hair was as red as ever, and Jack's was still golden. He was as handsome as the day she met him. She wasn't as certain about herself, but Jack was. That was good enough, she supposed. She didn't care what anyone else thought.

It took Rose completely by surprise when Jack announced he was going out to look for a job. "I thought you hadn't decided," she said.

"I'm still not sure," he replied. "But I figure I can at least look. It'll keep people from talking, and it'll be a change, so why not?"

"You have a point," Rose said. "Do you want me to come with you?" She looked at him expectantly. Jack was torn. He couldn't remember the last time one of them had gone somewhere alone. The idea of doing so scared him a little, but he also wanted to see what it would be like. And she would be safe at home. That hadn't been possible before. He liked knowing that. "I can go by myself," he said. "Unless you want to go."

"No," Rose said. "I was just offering." She spoke in a normal tone, but her spirits fell as she said it. They would be apart. It would only be for a few hours, but what if this was the beginning of something? What if they spent more and more time alone after this? Sensing her thoughts, Jack put his hands on her waist. "You wanna go down to the beach when I get back?" he asked. "We still haven't gone."

"Sure. I'd like that." Rose smiled. "Maybe you'll do sell some drawings while we're there."

"Maybe, but if I don't…" He shrugged. "I'll be with you. That's what I care about." He kissed her. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"I'll be here."

"I love you, Rose."

She put a hand on his cheek. "I love you, Jack."

…

Rose went through the house several times. Everything was in its place. It was absolutely perfect. There was nothing for her to do. She sat down on the couch with a sigh. The radio was no good. It was too early for the programs she liked, and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear anything anyway. The silence wasn't so bad, once it sank in. She read the titles of the books. None of them were new. She only carried the ones she loved the most with her.

Rose looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Jack. She was about to speak when she remembered. "He isn't here," she said, her voice suddenly too loud. "What's wrong with me?" She jumped at the chime of the doorbell. "I mean it, Rose," she said. "What is wrong with you? There's nothing to be afraid of." She crossed over to the door and opened it, as if to prove her point. "Julie," she said, surprised.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Julie said. "I have a few free hours, so I thought I'd come over and talk. If you don't mind having me."

"Of course I don't mind," Rose said, stepping back to let her in. "You aren't interrupting anything."

"I see the house is finished. It looks great."

"Thank you," Rose said. "We just finished it a few days ago." She looked around the room. "It didn't turn out that badly, did it?"

"It's lovely," Julie said. "Don't be so modest."

"My mother always said a lady can never be too modest." As she said it, Rose wondered why she had. When was the last time she even thought of her mother? Ten years? Fifteen? Now Rose saw her face. That unmistakable voice rang in her ears. All those things her mother taught her, the sayings and advice, where had they gone?

"She sounds like an interesting woman," Julie said. "My mother used to say things like that too."

"Yes, she was rather interesting," Rose said. "Won't you sit down? I can make coffee, or if you'd rather—"

"No, coffee is fine."

"Alright."

When Rose came back in with the coffee Julie was studying Jack's drawings. "These are very good," Julie said. "Who did them?"

"Jack," Rose said proudly.

"Really?"

"Yes. With his own hands." Rose handed her one of the cups. "See, this one is a bit older than the others," she said. As they talked, Rose began to feel better about Jack not being there.

 **AN: This is one of the last updates before I go off on vacation. Everything will be updated again at the end of July. Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

_One Month Later_

There were temptations everywhere. That was something Jack hadn't expected. He knew transitioning into this new life wouldn't be easy, but he didn't realize how often he would be reminded of their old life, or how often he would want to go back. Little things reminded him. A stack of Bibles in a bookstore. Watching people take their wallets from their pockets. Driving past used car lots. Hotels. Fruit stands. The post office. There was that one time they—No, he couldn't think about it. That was in the past. So what if it was brilliant? So what if it came out perfectly in the end? It was risky. It was the sort of job that could easily have sent them to jail. Jack didn't know which would be worse, being locked up or being away from Rose.

He glanced at her across the table. On second thought, he knew exactly which was worse. Hoe could there be any doubt? Rose met his eyes and smiled. If she had any qualms about giving up business forever, she wasn't showing it. "Job hunting again today?" she asked.

"Not all day," he replied. "I'm not so worried about finding anything anymore." Jack wondered why he said it; he need his time filled, now more than ever. "Do you wanna come with me?"

"Wouldn't you rather go alone?" Rose said. "I'll be in the way."

"No, you won't. I'd like to have company."

"Are you sure?"

Jack nodded. "It's be nice to have you there. Spending time alone is a good idea, but I miss you, Rose. A few hours a day doesn't seem like much, but when you've lived the way we have, it's-"

"So much longer," she finished. "I know what you mean." She was learning the fill the empty time between meals and without Jack; she was feeling better about being alone, but it was still difficult some days. There were just too many hours and not enough to do. Rose found herself hoping Julie would come over more often. Having a friend—especially a woman friend—was even better than she'd hoped. Of course, there were so many things she couldn't tell her, which made it hard to get close to her.

Rose hadn't done much exploring since they settled into the house. As they set out she wondered why she hadn't gone off by herself during the afternoons when Jack was out. She could have walked to nearly anywhere, so what kept her in the house? With a start, she realized she'd been afraid. Staying behind while Jack scouted ahead was one thing; she'd done that a few times early on, but going out alone was another. He had no such fears, of course; Rose envied him.

The town was like something from a postcard. It was the sort of place they would have driven through, marveled at, and half-heartedly talked about settling down in. They would have stayed for a rest, but it wouldn't have lasted. Business would go fine, but it seemed wrong to do business in such a pretty town. As they drove through the square, Jack was stuck by that feeling.

"What sorts of places are you looking?" Rose asked.

"Yesterday I heard they're looking for a new sketch artist for the court," Jack replied.

"You'd be perfect for that."

"Maybe." He shrugged. "In a place like this there's probably not much to sketch."

"You might be surprised," she said.

"Rose?"

"Yes?" she said.

He took her hand. "Thanks for coming with me."

….

Jack faced the interview panel wondering how he'd gotten there. He went in to ask about the job, and ten minutes late half the courthouse staff were asking him about his work experience. Of course, he had none to speak of, but his words told a different story. Jack watched their faces for signs of doubt or disbelief and saw none. Most of them looked interested, but he couldn't make his tale too impressive or suspicions would definitely be raised.

"You've certainly moved around a lot, Mr—uh—" the court reporter, a youngish woman with dark blonde hair said. She was the only woman on the panel. The rest ranged in age from early twenties to sixties. Jack hadn't given his age, and he could tell they weren't sure about it. "Dawson," he said. "Jack." He resisted the urge to smile. She was already on his side; there was no need to overdo it. "And yes, I have," he went on. "My wife and I enjoy traveling. We moved around back East when we could. Trying to see more of the country, you know? That's what brought us out here." There were nods. Jack was confident, but he didn't allow himself to relax. He had them, but they could still slip away.

…

The downtown streets were busy with morning shoppers, mostly housewives. Rose watched them; she moved silently, among the group but not of it. Some were tired-looking; they moved quickly, eager to return home. Others seemed to have all the time in the world. They stopped to chat; they haggled, barely seeming to care if their price was met. Some had children along. Rose imagined lives for the ones who interested her most. Without meaning to, she pricked out the ones who would be best for business. The blonde buying fish, she'd be good for a dropped wallet. So would the tall, young one looking a hats. The dark haired one talking so animatedly to the clerk would be good for a Widow Bible. And that one—Rose shook her head, as if to shake out the thoughts.

Did Jack still think this way? It felt like a reflex, or an instinct, assessing the people and situations around her. Rose wasn't sure she could stop, no matter how much she wanted to. They didn't need anything, but she began picking things up anyway. She didn't pay attention to price, as long as it caught her eye. By the time she went up to the counter she had three pomegranates, a set of silver jam knives, two tins of English tea, a load of the thick, Rye bread Jack liked, tomatoes, a head of lettuce, bananas, and two cans of milk. They didn't drink canned milk anymore; picking it up was a habit.

The clerk eyed her with interest and a little amusement. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, though his hairline was receding. "Is that everything?" he asked. Rose nodded. "Yes, I think so."

As he totaled up her bill he expected her to talk—to try and barter the price down, to ask questions, chat, anything, but she remained silent, a polite smile on her lips. Rose knew she should speak, but she was at a loss for words. There were so many tales she could spin, but she didn't want to. She was enjoying her anonymity too much. This wasn't hiding; she wasn't trying to be forgettable. She just wanted to remain free to observe.

….

Rose stared at Jack. "You found a job?"

"I found a job," he said.

"A real one?" she said, still not quite believing. "A proper, legitimate job? You go there in the morning and come home at night? They pay you?"

"Yes," Jack said. "Is that so hard to believe?" His tone was teasing. "I've worked for years, remember?"

"I didn't think it would be that easy. You haven't been looking very long, and there aren't many jobs available."

"I was a little surprised myself," he admitted. "I figured I could convince them if given a chance, but I didn't think they'd give me one so quickly."

"And they just believed you?"

He nodded. "I think so. There was a little hesitation at first, but I had 'em all by the end. Especially the court reporter. She woulda hired me without an interview." His eyes twinkled.

"Such confidence," Rose said.

"I believe in being confident." He moved closer. Rose sat at the end of the couch, her back against the arm. His gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips and back again. He wore the hint of a smile. She held her head up haughtily. "If you're trying to make me jealous, Jack, it won't work," she said.

"We've been together too long," he said. "The thought of pretty women chasing after me doesn't bother you anymore."

"When did it ever bother me?" It was her turn to smile. Jack's arm slipped around her; his hand rested on her waist. "I don't waste my time being jealous," she went on. "There are more important things I could be doing."

His lips brushed hrs. "Like what?" He kissed her before she could answer. She slid down, pulling him with her. The couch wasn't wide enough for this; they nearly rolled off. Neither of them noticed. They were well-practiced at finding comfort in small spaces. It wasn't any worse than their care, and they'd slept and made love there hundreds of times.

 _November 1915_

The cold crept in, under her clothes, past the blankets; fighting it was futile. Shivering, Rose pulled the layers tighter. Staying in a hotel was impossible. They were miles from anything. When they camped out they usually found a secluded spot on the outskirts of town, but nothing had done as planned that day. Their attempts at business all failed, sending their spirits down. They expected to miss occasionally, but five times in a row was hard to accept. What were they doing wrong? 

As they left town, glad to see the last of it, Jack took a wrong turn, and now here they were, in the middle of nowhere until morning. Rose's eyes were heavy. She fought sleep. When Jack came back, then she could sleep, and besides, it was too cold. She knew better than to let herself fall asleep cold. Jack had gone over the dangers dozens of times, starting with their first night together. They huddled against one another in the boast, waiting for help, as he explained how to survive among the elements.

She looked up as the door opened. Jack hurried in, slamming the door behind him. He rubbed his gloved hands together. She could barely see his face beneath the layers of scarf surrounding it. "Here," she said, putting the blankets around his shoulders. She moved closer, wrapping her arms around him.

"Thanks," Jack said gratefully. He snuggled against her, marveling at her warmth. She tightened her grip. "The fire's out," he said. "Everything's packed up. We'll leave as soon as it's light out."

"Alright."

Jack laid his head against hers. "You warm?" His hands searched for hers beneath the blankets.

"Not yet," Rose replied. "I will be soon."

He kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry about today."

"It wasn't your fault, Jack."

"Sure it was. I picked the town."

"So?" she argued. "You had no way of knowing none of the widows with money would bite. It was just bad luck. It couldn't be helped."

"What about the twenty we tried to change? That was all me," he said. "I didn't hold her attention enough."

"Well, I'll admit you may be losing your looks," Rose said playfully. "Which is truly a shame since you're so young, and that's all I ever liked about you, but I doubt anyone could have charmed that woman."

"She was quite determined to resist me." Jack's mouth turned up slightly. "One of the only times that's happened."

"Oh, I'm sure," she said. "How could anyone keep from throwing themselves at you? I hardly manage to control myself when you're near." She batted her eyes at him.

"Who said you have to control yourself?" Jack kissed her cheek again, closer to her mouth this time. His hand moved across her, seeking a way into her dress. He kissed the corner of her mouth, grinning triumphantly as he unbuttoned the front. It was slower with only one hand; his other arm was wrapped firmly around her, and the layers covering them didn't help matters.

"Jack."

He kissed her. "What?" A lock of hair fell over his eyes. They were a darker blue now. His hand slipped under her dress; he cupped her breast through the woolen chemise. Even with all the extra fabric she fit perfectly in his hand. Everything about their bodies coming together was perfect.

Rose's voice was heavier. "Jack."

"Yes?" His kisses were soft but insistent. "What is it, Rose-Petal?"

"I'm so cold," she said.

"Me too," he said, pressing her against him.

He reached under her skirt. She sucked in her breath. "Keep me warm, Jack?"

"I planned on it."

There was something about making love in the cold they almost enjoyed more than when they had the freedom of warmth and a bed—or a soft patch of grass in the sun. Combining pleasure with warmth took a different kind of skill. They had to stay close for the other's heat. Clothes had to be gone around rather than taken off. Their coats were still on; the heavy blankets limited movement. But they managed.

They held each other, warm, finally, trying to keep the cold away with their embrace. With any lucky they would stay warm for the rest of the night. Sleep would be refreshing, not dangerous.

Jack already dreaded getting up. When he let go of Rose the cold would rush over him. That first blast would hurt, but the real pain would come later, when it worked its way down into his bones. He had to guard against numbness, which was nearly impossible to do while driving. Gloves helped, but he still had to keep moving his hands. Rose helped too. Jack closed his eyes. She lay against him when he drove, a blanket around their shoulders and another across their legs. If they had it, she held the thermos of hot coffee or soup up to his mouth.

Jack kissed her face blindly. Rose laughed and titled his head so their lips met. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too." She pulled a hand out of their cocoon and touched his face. "Don't do that he said." He moved her hand back under the blankets. "It's too cold."

"Is it really? I'm not cold at all anymore," she said.

With his hand on her back, Jack gently lay her down, keeping the blankets tucked around them. "Good," he said. His body shielded her against the icy air. "Let's keep it that way."

…..

The sun was up when Rose awoke. The car was moving quickly. Wherever they were, it wouldn't be too close to a town. She kissed the back of Jack's head, right where his hair ended. "Why didn't you wake me up?" she asked.

"Thought you'd be warmer if I left you the way you were."

She kissed him again. "I was warm. Thank you." Jack smiled as she climbed over the seat, bringing blankets with her. "You need this," she said, draping one over him.

"I'm alright." His tone was grateful.

Rose scooted closer. "Where are we?"

"Near Davenport. We should be there by lunch."

"And then what?" she asked.

"And when we have some lunch and sleep in a warm bed tonight," he replied amiably. "I don't know about you, but I'd like a bath."

Suddenly a bath did sound like a good idea. Rose hadn't felt particularly dirty until Jack mentioned it. Most of the time she was too cold to feel dirty. They had trouble just keeping warm on the road; sweating wasn't likely.

"Are we staying longer?"

"Do you want to?" he said, glancing at her.

Rose shrugged. "It's a good town. We could probably do some business there, if we tried."

"Maybe." Jack didn't sound convinced. "Let's look around first."

As they drove his mood lightened. By the time they reached the town he was whistling and going over plans for the next day. Rose smiled and agreed with what he said, glad to see his confidence restored. She hadn't seriously worried it was gone, but she knew how hard Jack worked to maintain a cheerful outlook, for her sake as much as for his own. She liked when the cheerfulness was real. When Jack was happy Rose felt as if she could do anything, as if _they_ could do anything.

 _1932_

Jack spun Rose around and kissed her. Drops of water fell from his hair onto her face. His hands pressed against her back, holding her close. "You're in a good mood this morning," she teased.

Jack grinned. "Why shouldn't I be? I have you. I have a new job. A safe, easy job sketching the dull judicial proceedings in this fine town."

"What else could you want?"

He kissed her in reply. "To stay home with you," he whispered.

"You'll be home soon enough, Jack," she said, running her thumb across his lip. "There's plenty of time."

….

Jack worried about Rose's days being too empty. Keeping their house was a chose, and it certainly took up a good chunk of her time, but he could tell there were hours when she had nothing to do. He didn't want her slaving away until he came home. Her time was hers to use however she chose. He just wanted to be sure she was happy, and sitting for hours every day, with no even plans to occupy her, didn't sound like the sort of life Rose would enjoy. She'd already hinted as much just that morning. He would have to encourage her efforts to find a job—if in fact, she really wanted on.

He got the sense she wanted children, but she hadn't brought it up. They'd stuck to their agreement and were waiting to see what happened. After so many years of fighting against the possibility and refusing to entertain the idea, it felt odd to throw caution to the wind completely.

But, Jack thought, as he entered the courthouse, it was nice not to worry anymore.

…

Temptations were indeed everywhere. As the day wore on Jack saw more and more opportunities for business. There were the office girls. Young and easily charmed by his grin, despite their intelligence, he knew something could come of meeting them, if the urge overtook him. Strictly financial, of course. Jack noticed pretty women. He was human; how could he not? But he'd never wanted any of them, not since meeting Rose. He never smiled, except out of friendliness. He flirted out of necessity. He never laid a hand on them, even when he knew they wanted him to.

One of the lawyers, a young man with only a few years of experience, had a gambling problem. Jack knew the moment he saw him. The man carried the secret with him; it was written in his eyes, in the early lines on his face, and the slight drop in his shoulders. A few casual questions confirmed it. Automatically, Jack's mind filed the information away for later use. He didn't fight the habit. Who knew when something like that might come in handy.

The judge had no secrets of weaknesses, as far as he could tell. The bailiff was having an affair with the court clerk. That was interesting and possibly useful. If nothing else, it would make a good story to tell Rose. Jack wasn't a gossip, but he saw no harm in passing along things he saw to her. They didn't spread rumors; everything stayed between them.

Jack leaned back in his chair, waiting to be called in for his first set of drawings. Yes, temptation was everywhere, but he was certain he could handle it.

 **AN: Thanks to everyone for reading my stories. Thank you all for the reviews! Your comments are much appreciated.**


	9. Chapter 9

_May 1912_

 _Massachusetts_

"That's it?" Rose said nervously. "That's all I do?"

"That's all you do. Just take this—" Jack put a white Bible in her hand. "And tell the woman who answers the door Mr. Grayson ordered."

"And you'll be right here," she said.

"I'll be right here." He kissed her. "You don't hafta do this, Rose. You can wait in the car."

"No, I want to," she said. "You jump, I jump."

Jack kissed her again. "Right."

Rose stood primly, Bible in hand. An older woman answered the door. Her snow white hair was pulled into a knot. "Yes?" she said.

"I'm looking for Mr. Grayson," Rose said. "I'm with the New England Bible Company. I'm here delivering this Bible he ordered."

Mrs. Grayson looked at her curiously. "He passed away," she said. "Last Saturday. I'm sorry, did you say he ordered a Bible?"

"Yes, ma'am, this one," Rose said. "A white deluxe edition with the name printed in gold on the cover. See?" She held it up. "For someone named Edna."

"Why, that's me!" Edna said, disbelieving.

"Is it really? What a lovely gift."

"I can't believe he did that," Edna said.

"Well, if you'd rather not keep it, I'll return his fifty cent deposit," Rose offered.

"Oh no, I'll keep it. How much did he owe?"

Jack told her to ask for $3, but Rose could see inside the house, and she saw how well-dressed Mr. Grayson's widow was. Without giving herself time to doubt she said, "$7." Her heart pounded.

"I'll get my purse," Edna said.

…..

"I can't believe I did that," Rose gasped. "And it worked! I didn't think she would believe me."

Jack put his arm around her. "I told you it was easy," he said. "I knew you could do it."

"I'm glad one of us did," she laughed.

The countryside rushed past, green and blooming. Jack steered the car with one hand. It amazed Rose how easily he drove, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She'd ridden in cars many times, but she hadn't truly appreciated it until now. She wondered what it would be like to have all that power in your hands. Cars were still a rarity in small towns, and she suspected the people who stared after them wondered the same thing.

"You can do anything, Rose," he said seriously.

"I'm glad I came with you." She put her hand over his. "It's frightening—terrifying, the way yoy life, but it's-" Her eyes sparkled.

"Thrilling?"

"Yes," she said.

He grinned. "Wanna do another?"

…

By dinner time they'd sold four Bibles, which Jack assured her was a good day's business. "We could do more," he said. "But there's no need to press it." His tone was casual, but Rose could tell he was trying to impress her. In all, they'd made $35, a good amount, even if it did seem paltry compared to the kind of money she'd given up. There was no way they would ever make that much in a day working at legitimate jobs. They'd be lucky to take home that much in a week, with their earnings combined.

Rose couldn't believe it was all really happening. Just over a month had passed since they met. The sinking. The night spent huddled together in a boat. They hadn't wanted to let Jack on; they hadn't wanted to let any men on. Rose clung to him, refusing to let go. His blue eyes flashed desperation and pleading. "Rose, you have to go. Now!"

She shook her head. "No. Not without you."

"Rose, you have to go."

" _No_."

Her fingers dug into his arm. The chaos unfolding around them fell silent; there was nothing but the two of them. Jack's eyes bore into hers. "Rose, please," he said.

"No, Jack."

"Rose—"

"You jump, I jump, right?" she said.

Jack's mouth moved, half-forming a word. The officer watched Rose expectantly. It was now or never. Jack pulled her closer. "Sir?" he called out.

Jack didn't remember exactly what he said or how long he talked. He just knew at the end of it he was in the boat next to Rose. Maybe it was wrong for him to take that spot. He didn't know; he didn't let himself think too deeply about it. He was with her. That was all he cared about. Jack looked up as the boat began moving down. His eyes found Cal, who watched stone-faced, his hands gripping the railing.

…

They were back on the road the next day. Rose held the map while Jack drove. "We're coming up to Ludlow," she said. "Or if we take this left in a few miles, we'll be in Holyoke."

"Which one do you like?" he asked.

"I don't know. I haven't been to either one."

"Me neither," he said.

"You haven't?"

"I haven't been everywhere," Jack said good-naturedly.

"You've certainly been places I haven't," Rose said. "New York. Philadelphia. Pittsburg. Newport. And a whirlwind European tour. That's the extend of my traveling."

"I'll take you back to Europe, if you like."

"Now?" she said.

"Do you wanna go now?"

"No." Rose laughed. "I just wanted to hear what you'd say. I'd rather avoid ships for a while."

"So would I," he agreed.

Rose settled back into her seat. She studied the ring she now worse, a silver band where Cal's diamond once was. She liked the way it looked. Simple but elegant. She hadn't expected Jack to pay cash for it. He took the bills from his pocket casually, as though he made that sort of purchase all the time.

"I'll get you a better one," he said, glancing over at her.

"No, I love this one."

"Yeah? I have the money, but I thought if we're gonna do business together, it shouldn't be too big, you know? It's put people off," Jack said. "And you don't seem like you'd want another big ring."

"I don't. I love this one."

"Really," he said. "I'll—"

"You don't have to, Jack," she said. "This one is perfect."

"I love you," he said. "I want you to know that."

"I know." Rose squeezed his hand. "I love you."

It was still hard to believe they were married. They were in New York two days before he asked. The third morning they signed the license and said the magic words that made it all official.

Rose knew it was crazy. They just met. Jack was a wandering grafter. If nothing else, that should have given her pause. He told her all about the things he did for money; he admitted everything freely. Did that make it safe to trust him? Some people would say no; a man like him could never be trusted. He could say anything and make it sound believable. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Who knew if he'd said these very things to other girls? He must have. Why did she think she was the first? Why did she think she was special?

Because she was, and she knew it. "I'll never hurt you, Rose," Jack had promised. She believed him. "I never lied to you. I never will." It was the truth. She trusted him. And now here she was, a wandering grafter herself.

…..

It amazed Rose how much pleasure they found in one another. Not just physically, though the depth of that alone was staggering, but in simply being together. Talking. Dancing. Being silent and absorbed in their own tasks. Going to picture shows. Looking at paintings. Jack was her best friend, the first one she ever had. Rose wondered if it was normal to feel this close to a husband, to _any_ man. Her parents hadn't seemed particularly close, and neither did the couples she knew. Perhaps they simply didn't discuss it. Romantic love held little cachet among her former circle. There was nothing to be gained from it, at least, nothing tangible.

"Why did you start this?" Rose asked. All around them the world was waking up. Birds sang. She heard people on the street below. Jack paused, his shirt half-buttoned. "I realized I could," he said.

Rose didn't know what answer she expected. Something more exciting, perhaps. "Oh," she said.

"Disappointing, huh?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"It's okay," Jack said. "It kinds is. I'd want some grand story about how this life overtook me or how I was raised into it, but that's not the way it happened. My folks died, and I didn't have anything left. No money, no home. I had to figure something out."

"And you came to this?"

He nodded. "Not at first. I tried other ways of getting by. None of them paid enough. I was barely eating, living in the worst places. You'd think one guy wouldn't need much money, and that's true, but I just couldn't get enough. It was scary, Rose."

"How did you learn?" she asked.

"It took a while," Jack said. "I started out small. Changing bills. I saw a guy do it. At first I didn't see what he was doing, but it stuck with me. I kept thinking about it, and finally, something clicked." He looked off into the distance. "I tried it one day. I was so nervous. I don't know how the girl didn't figure out exactly what I was doing."

"You charmed her," Rose said. "That isn't hard to imagine."

"I didn't feel very charming," he said. "My hands were shaking." He chuckled. "I kept stuttering. She probably thought I wasn't capable of cheating her."

"How did you think of the Bible selling?"

"I met a real Bible salesman," he said.

"You did?"

"Yeah. I did. He kept talking about what a comfort it was, especially to the recently bereaved. I coulda gone into selling them legitimately," he said. "But it didn't look like a good business. He told me most of the time he gave 'em away, and the company set the prices, and a lotta people wouldn't buy. So, I found a place where I could order a few dozen at a time, cheap, and I tried it. I go the idea to put names on them later."

"Jack, do you ever feel bad about what you do?"

"No," Jack said without hesitation. "I never hurt anyone. I never stole from anyone who wasn't too greedy to see what was happening. Making $5 off change isn't going to put anyone out of business, if they even notice. And I think the Bibles do comfort most of the widows," he said. "It makes them believe their husbands were thinking of them, even if that's not true. Where's the harm in that?"

"Three isn't any, I suppose," Rose said.

"Do you feel bad?" he asked. "Do you want to go back?"

"What?"

"I'm just saying, if you do, it's not too late," he said. "You can. I'll understand. I won't stop you. I'll take you home, Rose, if that's what you want."

Rose couldn't believe what he was saying. Go home? Go back to that stifling world? Leave him, and after she just married him? "Jack, you are my home," she said. "Wherever you are, that's home for me. I love you."

"I love you," he said. "I don't want you to go."

"I won't."

"I just want you to know you can," Jack explained. "This life is hard, harder than it looks right now. It can be dangerous. I'll do my best to keep that away from you, but I understand it's a lot to ask; it's a lot to give up. Stability. Your own bed. You'll never have a minute's peace."

Rose looked deep into his eyes. "Promise?"

…

They ate breakfast slowly. There was no need to rush off. Jack watched the people around them. Even before he chose this career, he enjoyed observing people. They were so fascinating. He tried to guess what their lives were like. What their secrets were. Were they happy? He liked making up stories for them, especially when he drew, but he found if he watched long enough, the truth revealed itself.

"It's like playing cards," he'd explained to Rose on the drive out of New York. "You hafta pay attention to everything. You watch their faces, their eyes, make sure they believe you. Watch their bodies," he added. "People say more with their bodies than with words."

"How did you figure this out?" she asked.

"Picked it up here and there," he shrugged. "It wasn't easy."

Now, he was trying to teach the fine art of swindling to Rose. She seemed able to do it, if the previous day was any indication. "Those widows loved you," he said. "You did great yesterday."

"You said that already."

"Well, it's true," he said. "It might sound strange, but I'm proud of you, Rose. I've never shown anyone how I do things. I didn't think I'd ever show a woman."

"Why am I different, Jack?"

"You just are," he said. "I knew you'd understand. You wouldn't lecture me or tell me to stop."

"It's your life," Rose said.

"But it's your life now too."

"If I didn't want this, I wouldn't have come with you," she pointed out. "It's morally ambiguous, but I don't regret what I did yesterday."

"You wanna try something new?" he asked.

….

"Changing a bill is easy," he said. They say in the car on an empty street. "All you gotta do is make sure you keep the clerk too distracted to realize what's going on. By the time she has any idea, you're gone."

"She?"

"I always find a girl," he said sheepishly.

Rose smiled coyly. "I can't imagine why."

"Doesn't work as well on men, at least not grown men," he replied. "Teenagers, boys, that can work sometimes."

"Maybe it doesn't work for _you_."

"Why Rose, are you planning to use your loveliness to dupe some poor, unsuspecting man?" he said in mock horror.

"Why not? He'll be staring at me anyway. He'll probably assume I'm not that smart. I'm much too pretty for that," she said. "It's the same way Cal and my mother assumed you were a dumb poor guy they could laugh at."

"That they did," Jack agreed.

"And you let that work for you. Why should it be any different for me? My looks were supposed to get me a husband. I'd rather do this."

"You're so…logical," he said, shaking his head in amazement.

"Is that bad?" Rose asked self-consciously.

"No. I love how smart you are, Rose. It's why I knew I could bring you with me. Not just as a girlfriend, but as my partner, my wife."

"Have there been a lot of those? Girlfriends?"

"A few," he said.

"Oh," she said quietly.

"They didn't stay long," he explained. "I didn't tell them what I do. They thought I just had money. I think they liked the money more than they liked me sometimes."

"I doubt that's true."

"I'm not complaining," Jack said. "I didn't love them."

"But you traveled with them. You…."

"I did," he said.

"It doesn't bother me, Jack. I just wanted to know."

Jack leaned closer. "You sure, Rose?"

"Yes."

"Because if it does, we can talk about it," he said. "I don't want to upset you. I only want to be honest with you, for you to know everything."

There was a pause, and then Rose said, "I almost went to bed with Cal."

Jack wasn't sure he wanted to know any more. "But you didn't?"

"No," she said. "I couldn't."

"Why?"

"Why was I going to?" she said. "I thought it would make things easier. It's what he wanted. He never asked outright or tried to make me, but I knew. He made it clear. He had a way of making everything clear."

"I'd understand if you had," he said. "I wouldn't think any less of you."

"Are there any more secrets we need to tell today?"

"I'm pretty sure you know all mine now," Jack said. "You know more than anyone else."

Rose touched his hand. "Let's go change some bills then."

…

"That one," Rose said softly. Jack looked over at the counter without moving his head. The clerk was a man with close-cropped blonde hair. His arms were tanned. He looked about thirty-five, by Jack's estimate.

"You sure?" His mouth barely moved.

"I'm sure."

Rose smiled as she went up to the counter. She set down her purchases—a hairbrush, ribbon, paper, and said, "Hello."

"Hi." He returned her smile. Jack stood in the same place, pretending to be engrossed in a magazine. "Is this all you need, Miss?"

Jack didn't like hearing someone else use that word; that was what he called her. It was silly to get jealous. If he couldn't handle other men talking to her, flirting with her even, they might as well give up.

"Yes," she said. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"It's nice out," he agreed. "Glad summer's finally here. That's $6"

She handed him a $20. "So am I," Rose said. "I can't tell you how much I hate the cold. I was so tired to snow."

"It's being cooped up in the house that I hate most," he said. "You start getting restless, you know?"

She nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. I need to be outdoors."

"Me too. It just feels better." He took her change from the drawer. "Okay, here's ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, and fourteen," he said.

"Thank you." Rose moved to put the money into her purse. "Say, would you mind giving me a $5 bill for these five ones? It'll take up less space in my purse that way."

Jack held his breath. This was it. Could she do it?

"Sure," the man replied. He handed her a $5, and she handed him the five $1 bills.

"Thank you," Rose said, smiling again. "You know, I could tell when I first looked at you that you were an outdoors man."

"Could you really?"

"Why sure. You have that look." She tilted her head flirtatiously. "Oh, actually, do you think you could just give me a ten? I'll give you back the five, and you keep the five ones."

"Yeah, alright," he said, taking the $5 bill from her and replacing it with a $10 bill.

"Thank you," Rose said again. She gathered her things and turned to leave. He watched her. "Come back again," he called.

Jack smiled to himself. She'd done it.

….

Rose laughed as they got into the car. "I can't believe I did that!" she cried. "I can't believe he fell for it!"

"I can," Jack said. "You were fantastic."

"Do you mean that?"

"I mean it, Rose." He put his arm around her. "You were amazing, even better than you were with the widows." He kissed her.

"I liked it, Jack," Rose said. "With the widows I started to think it was my fear making it so exciting, but it's not. I wasn't afraid just now." She pulled him closer, kissing him deeply. "It's like when you touch me," she whispered.

"I know."

 **AN: So, I was watching the movie again, and I noticed when Jack's waiting before the dinner scene he watches the people around him and imitates what they do. I hadn't really thought about that until I was working on this chapter. He tries to blend in wherever he is, and he finds a way to be comfortable wherever he is.**


	10. Chapter 10

_October 1925_

Jack sank gratefully into the pillows. "A bed. Finally." He closed his eyes. It didn't matter he needed a bath, and food could wait. All he wanted was sleep. A poke in the back from Rose ended that dream. "Get up," she said. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. "You need a bath," Rose said. "Jack, you're filthy."

"Can't I sleep first?"

"Not if you want me sleeping with you," she said. In a softer tone she added, "You'll feel better once you're clean. I'll get us some dinner, and then we can sleep."

"Alright."

It was the nicest hotel in town. After the week they'd had Jack saw no reason to care about the expense. Rose agreed. Why try to be anonymous? They weren't there for business. She wanted rest, empty days away from their car, nights spent in a bed and not on the cold ground. Autumn had found them, and as pretty as the changing leaves were, she missed the summer nights.

They had a private bathroom, thanks to their deluxe accommodations. Jack was glad he didn't have to rush. His clothes were stiff with dried mud and sweat. Oil stained his pants. He tossed them in a heap; they would have to go. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. Oil and dirt were smeared across his face. His hair was greasy. The bandage on his hand was now grey; if he wasn't careful the cut would soon be infected. It was stupid of him to get hurt like that. He knew better. It was only fixing the car; how many times had he done it before? And yet, this time was different. His fixes only help for a few miles, and then something else went wrong.

Jack scrubbed until his skin was pink. The water was almost black. He drained the tub and leaned back as it filled again, the hot water soothing his sore muscles. It had been weeks since they had taken hot baths. They washed in lakes and creeks even after it was too cold. It just seemed easier, and then the car-Jack pushed the worry out of his mind. They would figure something out.

"For someone who didn't want a bath, you do appear to be enjoying yourself," Rose said.

Jack grinned. "I'll enjoy myself more if you get in here with me."

"A tempting offer."

"You need a bath too, Miss," he said.

"Are you calling me dirty?" she said haughtily.

He shook his head, no longer sleepy. "No, Miss."

The look in his blue eyes was like a kiss; it left Rose's heart beating faster. Jack watched as she slipped out of her clothes. He reached for her as she stepped into the tub. "C'mere."

She settled in his lap. His chest pressed against her back; his arms encircled her. She tilted her head back and kissed him. Steam rose from the water; the air smelled like peach soap, the same soap Jack caressed her skin with, kneading the knots from her shoulders as he went.

Rose closed her eyes and breathed slowly. He washed her hair, gently massaging her scalp. Why did it never feel this good when she did it herself? She heard the tub draining. Fresh, hot water followed. No doubt they'd pay extra for all this hot water, but Jack didn't care. Neither of them cared. Didn't they choose this life so they could have nights like this?

His voice was low, almost a groan. "Rose."

She turned to face him, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Yes, Jack?" she said coyly. He leaned in to kiss her, but she moved back with a laugh. He was wet and slippery, hot from the water. She didn't know if the flush on his cheeks was from desire or the water. She nipped his neck gently, earning a ragged sigh. Rose felt him wanting her. She looked into his eyes and kissed him eagerly, shifting her body. His hand found her hips and did the rest.

….

The sheets were soft and cool. Rose curled up against him and pulled the covers up to her chin. Her damp curls spread out across the pillow. "Tell me a story," she said.

Jack's eyes were half-closed. "You aren't tired?"

"I can't fall asleep yet."

"And you want a story?" he said.

"Please, Jack."

"Alright." He propped his head on his hand and draped his other arm over her. "Once upon a time there was a boy-"

"Named Jack."

"Are you telling this story?" he asked playfully.

"Sorry," she said. "Go on."

"His name was Jack. I planned that," he said. "And he was in love with a girl who had eyes like the ocean and skin like rose petals. He took his Flower Girl off to a life of adventures."

Rose yawned. "What kind of adventures?"

"He showed her how to live under the sky. The stars were their bed each night. When they woke up there'd be new flowers growing around them. They wanted to be near her."

"I don't believe that," she said.

"She was a Flower Girl," Jack said. "A real one. Part girl, part flower. It was hard to tell which one she was more off, and he was afraid the flowers would take her back one day."

She yawned again. "Did they?"

Jack watched her eyes close. Her breathing slowed. He kissed her. "Not yet," he whispered.

…

"I've fixed everything I can think of," Jack said. "Nothing works. What's wrong with it?"

Simon wiped his hands on a rag. "It's shot," he said. "Nothing to fix."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this car's dead," Simon replied. "You'll get a few more miles, but that's it. I could do some work on it. I could definitely use the money, but it wouldn't help."

"It's only a couple years old," Jack said incredulously.

"And clearly been driven through all kinds of weather," Simon said. "You've put almost a million miles on this thing. What'd you do, cross the country a few times?"

"Sort of, yeah," Jack said. He sighed.

"Look, you might as well get yourself a new car," Simon said. "Save a lot of time and money."

"Thanks. Can I leave it here a while?"

"Sure," Simon answered.

…

Jack found Rose standing outside a flower shop. "They can't have you back," he said, placing a kiss on her hair. She looked at him curiously. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What's wrong with the car?" she asked.

"What isn't wrong with it?"

"It's that bad?" she said.

"We might as well get a new one," Jack replied. "That wasn't part of the plan."

"Plans change, remember?"

"I remember," he said.

"Speaking of," Rose said. "I overheard a rather interesting conversation while I was waiting for you."

"Really?"

"It seems a Mr. Caulfield has come into town to make a large deposit at his bank."

"Go on," he said, intrigued.

"He's supposed to be carrying at least $1,200," she said. "From the sale of land. He doesn't trust banks very much. He has an appointment with his personal banker, Mr. Williams, at two o'clock tomorrow."

"And until then he's just carrying all that cash?"

"That's what he said."

"You don't think he could be pulling a job, do you?" Jack asked. "This is awfully convenient."

"I wondered that as well. He can't take us, though, can he? We'd figure it out," Rose said.

"Probably, but then again, maybe we've been at it so long we're getting arrogant," Jack said. "I'd hate to lose this. I'd hate getting worked even more."

"What do you want to do, Jack?"

"Let's figure out the car and see what happens next," he said.

….

Spending cash for a new car was never an option. They couldn't try their usual method of doing business for a car. Their old one wasn't in good enough shape, and they weren't in a hurry to leave town. Especially not with a potential catch on the lines.

"This was supposed to be a vacation," Jack said. He got the box of stationary supplies out of his suitcase.

"Work intrudes," Rose said.

"And we can't put off getting a new car. Even if we don't take that guy I don't wanna be stranded here."

Being without a car, for even a few hours, made Jack nervous. They had to be able to leave at any time. His heart beat too fast, but he couldn't stop it. He tried to breathe slowly, but that only made him dizzy. Rose took the book from his hands. "Jack, sit down," she said gently. She brushed the hair away from his face and kissed his forehead. "Calm down Darling-Jack. It's alright."

"I just—"

"I know," she said.

"I'm sorry, Rose."

"Don't be. Let me take care of this," she said.

They had several check books. A few were connected their various bank accounts; those bore their real names along with false addresses. The others were used strictly for business. Some were blank. Some were done in the style of payroll checks. Some looked so much like government bonded checks even an expert would have trouble telling the difference at first. They bought them from printers. They placed legitimate orders on behalf of real banks and business—without their knowledge, of course. They used common supplies from a stationary store to make the others.

They didn't use checks often. It was risky. They mostly kept them for any jobs that might call for them. In small towns like this, checks were still a bit uncommon, but they were also looked at with respect. A check meant more than just money; it also meant prestige. It signified a man with too much cash to carry around, and that was a man to take seriously.

Rose took a blank payroll check from the box. She worked slowly. Everything had to be perfect. She filled in the information for a lumber company based in Kentucky. It was close enough not to arouse too much suspicion, and yet far enough away no-one in town would be familiar with it.

She made it out to Jack for $509.95. She wrote another to herself for $343.67. That would buy them a new car. They'd sell the old one for whatever they could get.

….

"Afternoon." Jack grinned down at the teller. She was young, no more than twenty. She blushed as she smiled. "Good afternoon," she said.

A slight Southern accent slipped into his voice. "Nice day, isn't it?"

"Yes," she agreed. "It's been real pretty lately."

"Would you mind cashing this for me?" he asked, sliding the check over to her. "I know it's outta state, but I'm on my way to see my mama, and I didn't have time to cash it back home." His blue eyes were so honest and clear. May just wanted to get lost in them. "We're not supposed to, but this one time won't hurt," she said.

Jack smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

Outwardly he was at ease, but he didn't relax until he was away from the bank, the money in his pocket. It felt odd not having a car to go back to. Rose was coming from her errand at the other bank when he rounded the corner. She flashed him a smile, and he knew everything had gone well.

"Shall we buy a car?" Rose said.

He held out his arm for her to take. "Let's," he said.

…..

There were a few lots in town. They didn't have the luxury of driving to each one, so they settled for the nearest. It was a fairly prosperous place with a less than honest salesman on duty. Rose touched Jack's arm when she saw him, and he nodded just enough for her to see.

"Afternoon folks," Conrad said jovially.

"Afternoon," Jack said.

"You looking to buy?" Conrad glanced at Rose, who wore a polite expression; her arm was still in Jack's. He dismissed her.

"Maybe," Jack said. "Don't know yet."

"Let me show you what we got then."

They followed Conrad around the lot, listening while he detailed the reasons each car was a bargain at twice the price. "Take this one here," he said. "It's barely been driven. It's practically new." It was a 1916 Ford, and Jack knew it had been driven just as much, if not more, than their old car. "Maybe," Jack said. "It doesn't look so good to me."

The one he wanted as a 1923 model. He squeezed Rose's hand as they passed it, and she agreed. Conrad knew nothing of this, of course. Judging from their clothes he thought they were country people who recently came into money. He took Jack for a man trying to sound smarter than he really was.

"What about this one?" Jack said, going over to the car next to the one he wanted.

"Oh, that's a good choice," Conrad said. "In fine shape."

"What do you think?" Jack asked Rose.

"You know I don't know anything about this," Rose said demurely. "It's your decision."

"I don't know," Jack said. "Is this price right?" The sticker said $125.

"It's right," Conrad said.

"I would've give that much for it," Jack said. He casually walked over to the next care. Its price was $200. "I'd maybe give $150 for this one."

"I couldn't go that low," Conrad said. "I'm selling it at a loss already."

"How do you figure?"

"Just look at it," Conrad said. "Solid engine. Good paint job. New tires. It's worth at least $250."

"I only see $150 here," Jack said. "And that's being generous."

"Maybe we shouldn't argue with the man," Rose said. "He seems to know what he's talking about."

"I can handle this, Gladys Jane dear," Jack said. "Look, we're obviously not gonna make a deal," he said to Conrad. "We may as well go."

"Not so fast," Conrad said. "We can talk."

"No, you've said what you had to say."

Jack and Rose turned to go. Conrad watched, expecting them to turn around again. When they didn't he called out, "Wait. $150, you said?"

"$125," Jack replied without bothering to turn his head."

"I can't do $125."

Nonchalantly Jack turned. "I thought you said you couldn't do $150?"

"$150's as low as I can go," Conrad replied.

"No. I want a spare set of tires and $130," Jack said.

They stared at each other as Conrad considered the offer. "I can do that."

…..

The car drove like a dream. It was bigger than their old one. They could both stretch out across the backseat. "And a bargain at twice the price," Rose joked.

"Especially when she was worth at least $250," Jack said. "Who was he kidding? This was the only decent car on the lot. I think he had it just to get people interested."

"Then why did he given in?"

Jack shrugged. "He probably didn't pay much for it. If he paid anything."

"Do you think it's stolen?" she asked.

"Not anymore. We got the papers. It's all legal now. New license plate, probably new paint too."

"Someday I'll stop being surprised," Rose said.

"Don't do that," Jack said.

He drove to a garage near the hotel. "It runs great already," he told the mechanic. "Make it run better by tomorrow. Do whatever you have to. I want it to fly." He handed the man a wad of bills. "By tomorrow."

"He thinks you're an outlaw," Rose said as they walked away. "Some kind of gangster. I guess that makes me your moll."

Jack took her hand. "You're my wife. No matter what, you'd never be anything else to me."

"Why are you so concerned with how it runs?"

"I don't want it breaking down all at once like the last one did," he said. "We're gonna stay on top of things this time."

….

They sat in the hotel lobby for an hour after lunch waiting for Mr. Caulfield. "There he is," Rose whispered.

"You can tell he's got money. He thinks he's hiding it," Jack replied. "Probably in his pocket right now."

"Are we going to do anything?"

"You want to?" he asked.

"If you do."

"Towns too small for him to be pulling a job," he mused. "There aren't many unfamiliar faces. People act like they know him."

"But they don't know us," Rose pointed out. "That might be a problem."

"Could be. Does it make you nervous?"

Rose shook her head. A familiar spark was in her eyes. "I think we can do it."

"But _what_ are we gonna do?"

She could tell from his expression Jack wanted to come up with an elaborate scheme. Nothing thrilled him more than finding a new way to do business. "Simple is best right now, Jack," she said. "We don't want anyone chasing us."

"You're right," he agreed reluctantly.

"Should we drop a wallet?"

"Yeah," he said. "That'd work."

…

They kept an eye on Caulfield for the rest of the day. People were always coming up to him. He sat in the lobby with a little notebook. Sometimes they went to his room. "He didn't get that money from selling land," Rose said. "He _is_ doing business, just not our kind."

"But what's he doing?"

They watched as Caulfield went outside. "Let's follow him," Rose suggested. Keeping a safe distance, they slipped out the back door after him. He went behind the hotel and through the trees, stopping at a dilapidated old barn. He disappeared inside and came out a few minutes later with a large, clearly full sack. He walked slowly, holding the sack tightly. "Let's see what's in there," Jack whispered.

The door opened easily, revealing a dim room clogged with bottles. "He's a bootlegger," Rose said, shaking her head in disbelief. "That insipid looking little man."

"That's his cover," Jack said. "I'll be that talk about money was a code to let people know he's got goods ready to sell."

"Do you want to give up?"

"Do you?" he asked.

"It's a much bigger risk now."

"Or less," he said. "He can't go to the cops."

"We've never done business with a bootlegger," Rose pointed out. "Or any other criminals. If he finds out, he might do anything. What does he have to lose?"

"We can forget this and just take a few days off," Jack said. "We got plenty from the checks."

Rose sighed. "I don't quite want to let it go."

"Neither do I," he admitted.

"We'll be careful," she said.

He nodded. "I'll think of somethin good."

Jack didn't know how much he would come to regret his confidence.


	11. Chapter 11

The plan was simple. Jack explained it to Rose over breakfast. "I'll do everything," he said. "You don't even hafta talk to him."

"What if I want to?"

"I'm not gonna stop you," he said. "But-"

"But you don't want me talking to him," Rose finished. She tilted her head. "Why not?"

"If something happens I don't want you to be part of it. He'll remember you. You don't blend in like me."

She laughed. "You think you blend in? Jack, have you ever taken a good look at yourself?"

"A man won't notice me the way he will you."

"Are you having doubts?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. This'll be easy. Quick and easy," he said. "But I'd be stupid if I didn't think about what could happen."

"Do you still think doing business with a man like this is a good idea?"

"Sure," Jack said. "What can he do? He can't get the law involved. He won't want to hurt us. This is a small operation he's got going. He's not gonna want to deal with violence. It'd just draw attention."

"No-one knows us," Rose pointed out, "If we disappear, who would care? There wouldn't be any questions."

"There's always questions. Getting rid of people isn't that easy. And like I said, he's not gonna want to do that. If he does-" Jack paused. "We'll be fine, Rose. Trust me."

"I trust you."

Caulfied didn't move when Jack sat down next to him. He kept his eyes on the notebook in his hand. "You Caulfield?" Jack said.

"Who wants to know?"

"Moze said I should talk to you," Jack answered. "He said you were the guy to see about selling some whiskey down here."

"Don't know no Moze."

"Well, he knows you," Jack said. "I don't know where he got your name, but he said to talk to you.

Caulfield lifted his eyes. "That so?" His expression was hard. "And you got somethin to sell?"

"Maybe. Depends," Jack said.

"I don't want any shiny."

"I don't have any. I deal only in bonded goods," Jack said. "Pure whiskey, distilled before Prohibition, stored and aged perfect, just waiting to be sold for the right price."

"How'd you come by something like that?"

"That's my business," Jack said. "All you need to think about is the price and how much you're willing to buy."

"Give you $15 a case," Caulfield said.

"Can't do it. $20 a case," Jack said. "Price is set down in Birmingham."

"It didn't cost that legal."

"It's not legal anymore," Jack said, nonplussed. "These days you take what you can get."

Caulfield thought for a moment. "You've got a point. Getting harder to find quality product. Most of it's been drunk or busted by revenue agents. Damn shame too. Alright, $20 a case. How many you got?"

"Twenty-five cases," Jack said. "Deliverable by morning."

"You got it in the county?"

Jack didn't hesitate, though he should have. It seemed to be going well. Everything was just like he planned. Caulfield believed him. Quick and easy. That's what it would be. He'd done this long enough to pull a job in his sleep. What was there to be afraid of?

But there were always more angles to consider, unexpected reactions, and possibilities not planned for. Jack knew this. Rose knew it. That's what kept them out of jail, kept them successful, kept them alive. But flushed with confidence, Jack forgot all that for a moment. "Sure," he said. "Where else?"

That was the moment when he tipped his hand; he just didn't know it yet.

Rose was waiting outside, hidden in shadow. "Well?" she asked breathlessly. "How did it go?"

"Just like I thought," Jack said. "We'll make $500 by tomorrow. He's meeting us outside town to get the whiskey."

"$500? How many did you sell him?"

"Twenty-five," he said. "At $20 a case. I wanted to go for more, but this is good. It's all profit no matter what."

"And you're sure about this?" Rose said.

He kissed her. "I'm sure, Rose."

She moved closer, kissing him more deeply. "So much for taking some time off," she whispered.

"We're not suited for that, though, are we?"

"Maybe not. We'll try again when this is over," Jack said. "We'll have plenty of money."

Rose laughed. "When don't we?"

"We always will," he promised.

"Jack, I'm not worried about that. I know we'll survive one way or another."

They waited until darkness set in and headed back to the shed. The car was parked nearby. Rose kept watch while Jack went inside. He carried out case after case, loading in the car, until finally they had enough. He rearranged what was left to hide any gaps, and they set off. "He'll never notice," Jack said. "There's enough in there to sell for years without ever buying any more."

That should have been a clue. Caulfield wasn't interested in replenishing his suppy; he was only interested in controlling all sources. Rose almost asked why Caulfield would have any interest in what they had-or claimed to have, more like-if he already had more than he needed, but she ignored the thought. Maybe his operation was bigger than they thought. You could never have too much good liquor these days, and the more you had, the more you could sell. She held Jack's hand as they drove through the night, confident they would be safe in a new town by the next afternoon.

They were the first to arrive. Jack pulled the car off the road, and they unloaded the cases, stacking them in the bushes. It wasn't long before they saw Caulfield's headlights approaching.

"Do you have it?" he asked.

"We've got it," Jack said.

Caulfield glanced at Rose. "I thought you werr coming alone. If you're trying to cheat me somehow-"

"She's my wife," Jack said. "I don't go anywhere without her." He took a case and set it Caulfield's feet. "There's more," he said. "But first, the money."

"Alright."

Jack handed the money to Rose. She counted it while Jack handed off the rest of the cases. When it was done Caulfield tipped his hat. "Pleasure doin business with you," he said.

"Same," Jack replied.

Rose laughed as they drove away. "You're right. That was easy. I don't know why I was so nervous."

"I was too," Jack confessed.

"You were? You didn't look nervous."

"Good." He grinned. "Wouldn'tve done to have him know that, would it?"

Rose moved closer. She put an arm around him and kissed the corner of his mouth. "You were wonderful, Jack. If I didn't know better, I would've thought you did that sort of thing all the time."

Jack relaxed against her. He let out a deep breath. "Let's have a long breakfast. What do you think, Petal?"

"That sounds like a good idea."

They had only gone a few miles when Jack noticed lights flickering in the distance behind them. It was like a flashlight. He blinked, not sure he was really seeing anything. "You see that?"

"See what?" Rose asked.

"That light back there."

"I don't see anything," she said. "Maybe there's something. I can't tell, exactly."

Without warning the car roared up behind them. Instinctively, Jack pressed down on the gas. "What is that?" Rose said. The car behind them sped up.

"I don't know," Jack answered. He glanced in the mirror. "I don't like it. Something's not right."  
The sirens blared into the night. Jack craned his neck to see them. Rose climbed into the backseat. "Rose, what're you doing?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Her voice was muffled. "Can we outrun them?"

"Maybe." His heart pounded. He was sure theirs was the better car, especially after the work he'd had done, but what if he was wrong? He didn't know the area. These men most likely knew it well. What if he couldn't get away and made things worse by running? Jack searched for a reason why cops would be following them. "That son of a bitch," he muttered, tightening his grip on the wheel. "Hang on, Rose," he called. The car surged forward. She cried out as she tumbled across the backseat.

They came out of the trees, and the road widened. Jack froze as the other car pulled ahead. It turned, stopping in front of them. Swearing, he stomped the brake.

Rose's voice was fearful. "Jack?"

"It's alright, Rose. I'll take care of it." Jack wanted to tell her to stay down, to hide, but there was nowhere to hide.

Two men walked toward them. Once was tall with a mustache. The other was broad shouldered with large, meaty hands. He stood next to Jack's window and shone a flashlight into his eyes. "What do you think you're doing?" Sheriff Wes Caulfield demanded.

Jack fought the urge to squint against the light. "Driving," he said. "Just getting an early start."

Rose scrambled over the seat and settled next to him. Out of the corners of his eye Jack saw her hair was now tightly pinned up. Why had she bothered with her hair? It was a question he didn't have time to answer. "Give me your keys," the sheriff ordered. Jack did as he was told.

They were silent as the other man rifled through the trunk. Everything was securely packed; some boxes were even locked, but Rose still held her breath. Jack put his hand over hers.

"Why you gettin started so early?" the sheriff asked.

"I wanted to," Rose said. "I was anxious to get home." She pressed down on Jack's hand and hoped he didn't say anything. The light shone on her. She recognized the look that passed across the sheriff's ruddy face. Revulsion washed over her. The light moved over to Jack again. "That true?" he said.

"Yeah," Jack answered.

"Where you live?"

"Florence," Jack said.

Wes stared at him. Jack's confidence began to splinter. Something wasn't right; there was no denying it. Cops shouldn't have been out on a country road at this hour. They shouldn't have chased them. His explanation should have been accepted. It was the job. That was the only reason he could come up with.

"Found something!" Glenn called.

Rose held her breath as he walked around the car. Had he managed to unlock one of the boxes? Which looked the least incriminating? The checks, without a doubt. They couldn't explain those on their best day.

"What'd you find?" Wes asked.

Glen held up a bottle. "Irish whiskey."

Wes's eyes lit up. "Really?" To Jack he said, "Don't you know alcohol's illegal?"

"Yes." At that moment Jack hated himself. How could he have been so stupid? They didn't drink often, but this was good stuff, so he figured why not keep some for themselves. Maybe they would find a use for it. Or maybe they'd just have fun with it. It was only one bottle, after all. It had seemed so harmless.

"So, what're you doin with this?" Wes asked in a steely voice. "You think you're above the law? Is that it?"

Jack sensed Rose preparing to speak and squeezed her hand tightly. "No sir," he said. "It's not even mine. Musta been left in the car."

"Oh really?" Wes laughed. "You hear that, Glenn? Musta been left in the car."

Glenn chuckled. "Musta been the booze fairy."

"Looks like I'm gonna have to take you in," Wes said, grinning. "Not every day we catch a bootlegger."

Jack looked into his eyes, and he knew exactly what was happening. It was all a set-up; it had been from the start.

Glenn drove their car. They sat in the back seat of the sheriff's car and watched the sun rise as they headed back into town. The silence was suffocating. Rose tried to catch Jack's gaze, but he refused to look at her. His frown was etched into his face. She knew he was angry, mostly at himself, and wished they could talk. There had to be a way out.

She scooted closer, pressing her leg against his. He didn't respond. She took his hand. It was hard and cold. "Jack," she whispered. He barely turned his head. "Don't Rose," he whispered back.

"Please, don't."

"We can fix this."

"How?" he asked.

"I'm not sure yet. Jack, I know it's bad, but we'll figure something out. We always do. You can't give up. Isn't that what you always say?"

"It's never been this bad," he said.

"We just have to think."

"It's not going to jail that scares me," he said. "It's what'll happen to you. I don't wanna lose you."

"You aren't losing me," Rose promised. "We'll get out of this. Trust me."

"I'll try to think of something," he said half-heartedly.

The sheriff's office was an ugly, two-story building. They went in through the front door, up a set of stairs, and down a narrow hallway. Rose tried to memorize every detail. There had to be something she could use. At the opposite end of the hall, just past the stairs, was a door marked "Private." An idea began forming.

Wes grabbed Rose's arm and shoved her into a chair. She yelped in pain as she landed. Jack whirled around. "Hey," he cried. "Get your hands off her!"

Wes took a menacing step toward him. Rose hot Jack a pleading look. "Don't, Jack," she said.

"Better listen to her," Glenn said.

Jack glared at Wes. He remained silent while Glenn searched him. "Nothing," Glenn reported. What did they want? And then it hit him. The money. Jack tried not to look at Rose's purse, though he knew they would eventually look there anyway.

"Take your shoes off," Wes said. Jack's frown deepened as he complied. They took the money from his pocket; no surprise there.

Most of their things were still in the car, either because they were too heavy or because they couldn't be unlocked. They brought in the bag with Jack's art supplies. Glenn dumped it out on the table and rifled through the contents. "Nothing," he said again, shaking his head in disgust. "Just pencils and crayons."

"What about this?" Wes said, flipping open Jack's sketchbook. He grinned when he came to the nude sketches of Rose. "Well," he said, glancing at her. "This is art I can appreciate." Rose lifted her chin and glared at him. "Look at this," Wes said, offering the book to Glenn.

Jack felt sick. He wanted to snatch the book away from them. They looked from the drawings to Rose, smirking. It was like they had their hands on her. She sat as stiffly as possible; her glare gave way to an empty expression. This wasn't right. They'd done some things; she admitted that, but this wasn't right.

"Too bad it's not what we're looking for," Wes said.

"What are you looking for?" Jack asked.

"You know. Don't pretend you don't," Glenn said.

"I don't," Jack said. "Why don't you tell me?"

"We want the money," Wes said. "A big bootlegger like you oughta have a stash with him. Where is it?"

"You already took all the money we have," Rose said coldly.

Jack touched her hand. "Don't," he mouthed.

"I doubt that," Wes said.

"Probably in one of them locked boxes," Glenn said. "Where he shoulda put his liquor."

"Where's the key?" Wes asked.

"Lost it," Jack replied. "Damnedest thing."

Wes looked almost amused. "Uh-huh. You realize all I need to send you to the road gang for at least a year is just this one bottle, don't you?" Wes bent over Jack. "So don't play around. Give me the key, or give me the money."

"Don't have either," Jack said stonily.

"You need to think about your wife," Glenn said. "We send you up, where's she gonna go? A lotta things can happen to a girl alone in this world."

Rose tried not to speak. "We don't have it," she heard herself say.

"Rose, don't," Jack said.

"Check her bag," Wes said, fixing his gaze on her.

Jack's heart pounded as Glenn turned Rose's purse inside out; its contents clattered to the floor. "Nothing," he said. Jack hid his confusion. It should have been there. There hadn't been time to hide it.

"Look closer," Wes ordered.

"I'm tellin ya, she doesn't have it," Glenn said. He poked a compact with his foot. "It's just useless stuff, like in his bag. Maybe it's on her," he added.

"Yeah, maybe," Wes said slowly. He grabbed Rose and hauled her to her feet. She tried to pull away as he pushed her against the wall. His thick hands grabbed at her. His palm closed around her breast. "Don't touch me!" she screamed, kicking him.

Jack was on his feet now. He had a grip on Wes's collar. "I told you keep your hands off her!" He jerked Wes back, but a well-aimed punch to the side, courtesy of Glenn, kept him from doing anything else. Jack doubled over, gasping for breath.

"Jack!" Rose punched Wes. Blood spurted from his nose. She lunged toward Jack, but her freedom was short-lived. Wes grabbed her by the hair. She cried out as he jerked her back. The slap was deafening. Her head spun; pain blossomed in her cheek, and she tasted blood. The next slap hurt more.

"Can I have my things back?" Rose spoke quietly. Her face was bruised; her lip was cut; light marks circled her throat. Jack stared at the floor, nursing his swollen hand. His shirt was torn and speckled with blood, some of it his own. Glenn nodded at her, and she slowly gathered the contents of her purse.

"You should just tell us where the money is," Glenn said. "If you don't, when Wes gets back he'll-"

"There is no money," Jack spat.

"We know you have it."

Rose bumped Jack as she walked past him. He looked up at her, and she touched her hair. So that's where it was. He almost laughed. "I need to get cleaned up," Rose said. Glenn avoided looking at her. "There's a place down the hall," he said.

"I'm not going alone."

"Let me go with her," Jack said.

"Fine," Glenn said.

He stood in the doorway, gun in hand, as they made their way down the hall. When they reached the steps Rose screamed, "Go!" and broke into a run. They flew down the stairs, their feet hardly touching the floor. Glenn followed, cursing.

They fell into the car. Despite her shaking hands Rose had it started before the door closed. She raced into the road, tires squealing. "C'mere," she said, reaching for Jack.

They heard sirens behind them. Rose pushed the accelerator down even further, and they didn't look back.

 **AN: This chapter was inspired by Paper Moon. There is a resemblance to some scenes in that movie, which is intentional.**


	12. Chapter 12

_1932_

Rose smoothed down the paper. "There," she said. "That's the last of it." It was white with yellow flowers. She choose it because she thought it would give the kitchen cabinets a cheerful air. Never mind that the dishes would cover it. The bathroom cabinets had blue paper with little dots. The shelves in their closet had green paper with pink flowers. It had taken her a week to finish them all, not because it was a particularly difficult task, but rather, because she liked having something to do. Despite her best efforts, most days still felt empty.

Rose carefully stacked the dishes in the cabinets. The stove gleamed from a fresh polishing; the floor was spotless; the smell of lemon filled the air. She looked around and smiled, proud of her accomplishments. It wouldn't look like much to some people, but this immaculate kitchen meant more to her than she ever thought it would. It meant stability. Safety. It wasn't exciting. She didn't wake up every morning wondering where they would end up or what they'd find, but that was a small price to pay for security.

She glanced at the clock. 2:15. Jack wouldn't be home for hours. It was too early to start dinner. There had to be something else she could do, some bit of cleaning or a project she hadn't started yet. Rose searched her mind and found nothing. She sighed. Security was a nice feeling, but it didn't make the time pass.

 _1925_

"Do you want me to drive?" Jack asked.

"No." Rose's eyes stayed on the road ahead. They'd crossed the state line an hour before and were now well into the next one, but she hadn't let up on the gas. Any minute now she was sure a police car would appear behind them.

"You need to eat something," he said.

"Why? You haven't."

"We both do," he conceded. "And it wouldn't hurt to sleep."

"We can't stop yet," she said.

"I don't think they're following us, Rose."

"How can you be sure?" she asked.

"Well, we woulda seen them already," Jack said. "Don't ya think?"

Rose glanced in the mirror. The road behind them was empty. "I don't think what I think," she said. "I just know they can't catch up with us. We can't let them."

"Petal." Jack touched her arm. "We're gonna be alright. We did it. We got away."

"How can you be sure?" she asked again.

"I just am."

Slowly, Rose eased up on the accelerator. "I trust you, Jack," She loosened her grip on the wheel.

"It's gonna be fine," he said. He took a map from the glove box. "Let's find a town to stop in."

…..

Rose parked the car. She held the wheel with both hands and closed her eyes. "You're right," she said. "They aren't coming after us, and if they are, we've put enough distance between us and them. We're safe."

Jack kissed her cheek. 'We can relax now, Rose."

They were both tense as they made their way into the hotel. Rose kept her hat low. She held Jack's hand as he signed them in. "We'll want some food sent up," he said.

"You'll have to call down to the kitchen," the clerk replied.

"Fine."

"We'll eat, and then we'll sleep," Jack said, as they headed up the stairs. "Tomorrow we'll get back on the road. Put all this behind us."

"Jack, are you afraid?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Are you still afraid?" she said.

"No." He took her face in his hands, careful not to press the bruises. "And you shouldn't be either, Rose." He kissed her forehead. "What happened was terrible," he said. "I'm sorry I got us into that mess. If I could do it again-"

"It wasn't your fault," Rose said.

"Sure it was. Doing business with that bootlegger was my idea, wasn't it? I was so sure I knew what I was doing. It was all gonna be so easy."

"I agreed to it. I thought it was a good idea," she reminded him.

"Because you trust me."

"Shouldn't I?" she said.

"Of course you should," he said. "And I shouldn't betray that." Jack shook his head. "They hurt you, and I let them."

"You didn't. Jack, you-" Rose paused as another guest, a distinguished older woman brushed past them. "Let's not discuss this here," she said.

…..

Rose stripped down to her underclothes and lay down on the bed. "I think I'll sleep for a few days."

"You gotta eat first." Jack picked up the telephone. "What do you want?"

"I don't care. You know what I like." She closed her eyes. "Choose for me, Jack."

It felt like only a few seconds had passed when Jack shook her awake. "Food's here," he said.

She yawned. "I'm not hungry."

"Yeah, you are," he said. "And I ordered your favorite."

"Caviar?"

Jack chuckled. "With champagne."

"There had better be crackers."

"But of course." He snapped his fingers. "Sorry, Rose, we don't have any after all. They brought roast beef sandwiches instead."

"Good," she said, taking a plate from the tray. "I'm famished."

"Thought you weren't hungry."

"I'm a lady of whims," she said with a haughty toss of her curls.

"I'll remember that."

 _1932_

"Here's the last of 'em," Jack said. He set the portfolio down on the desk. "Tell Duane I want home for the day."

Millie looked up at him through wire-rimmed glasses. "Can't wait to get out of here, can you?"

"More like can't wait to see my wife," he replied pleasantly. "She doesn't know I'm coming home early."

"She's a lucky woman." Millie spoke without envy. Her smile was bright and genuine. Officially, she was secretary to the lead prosecutor, but she also handled things for Jack sometimes. At twenty-five she was the last of her set to still be single, but she tried not to let it bother her.

"I think I'm the lucky one," Jack said.

"Well, have fun. Remember, the big trial's next week," she said. "You won't be able to duck out early for a while."

"How could I forget? I'll probably lose my drawing hand," Jack said jokingly.

He whistled as he walked home. During the few months they'd lived there the town had begun to feel like home. The streets were familiar; he even recognized most of the people he passed. It was comforting. Jack never once thought any of those people might recognize _him_.

…

"Well?" Rose said expectantly.

"What?" Jack said.

She frowned. "You can't tell a difference, can you?"

"A difference in what, Rose?"

"In _me_ ," she said.

"Something's different about you?" he said, confused. "You look the same as you always do." Realizing his mistake, he hastily added, "By which I mean, you're as lovely as the day we met."

Rose sighed. "I'm wearing a new dress. My hair is shorter, and my lipstick is different, Jack."

Now that she pointed it out, he saw the changes. Her hair wasn't much shorter, but it was enough to notice. Her lipstick was a deep red, almost wine-colored, and she's never worn a dress like that before. "I'm sorry," he said. "You really do look beautiful."

"How can you be sure? I always look the same to you. Apparently."

Jack took her hands. "No, you don't. I don't look as closely as I should sometimes."

"You think you're going to talk your way out of this, don't you?" she said. He shook his head and kissed her fingers. "That won't work either," she said.

"What can I do, Rose?" he asked.

"I don't know. Nothing. It isn't you I'm upset with."

"It's not? What then?"

"I'm upset with myself," Rose said. "I wanted to do something different and get your attention. I failed."

"You don't hafta do anything to get my attention," he said. "You have it. Always."

"It doesn't feel that way," she said. "I feel so extraneous lately. I don't do anything."

"You do plenty of stuff around here. The house looks great."

"I do little, meaningless things to pass the time," she replied. "And I stretch them out as long as I can. I just thought if I made you want me again-"

"You think I don't?" Jack said.

"Why would you?"

He pulled her closer and kissed her. "Because I love you," he whispered/. "You're my Rose-Petal. I can't feel my knees when I look at you."

"That was before, when I did things. When you needed me."

"I'll always need you," he said.

 _1925_

"Rose, I need you to wake up," Jack whispered.

Her voice was soft. "Why?"

"We gotta go."

"It's still dark," she said.

"I know. You can sleep in the car. I've already got everything packed," he said. There was urgency in his voice. "Just put on your coat and shoes, alright? There's too many people. I can't carry you."

The cold snapped Rose awake. Shivering, she pulled her coat tighter around herself. The car wasn't much warmer. She took the blanket Jack offered and settled in next to him. The dashboard clock read 12:07. "Why are we leaving now?" she asked.

"I'll tell you in a little bit. Go back to sleep."

Rose lay her head on his shoulder, but she didn't sleep. The world was black and cold around them. The road was empty; the only sounds were the rumble of the engine and their breathing. Jack held the wheel loosely, but his jaw was tense. They raced through the night.

….

Rose didn't remember falling asleep. She woke up with the sun in her eyes. "Where are we?" she asked, sitting up. Her neck screamed in protest.

"Ohio," Jack answered.

"How did we get that far?"

"We drove." He grinned. "You were out for a while, Petal."

The clock read 5:15. "Indeed," she said.

"Hungry?"

"Do we have anything?" she asked.

"We've got a couple sandwiches and a fried pie," he answered. "Stopped for gas a few towns back."

"And you only got one pie?"

"Ate mine already," he said. "They're pretty good."

Rose unwrapped the small pie and bit into the flaky crust. "You're right. This _is_ good. Why didn't you wake me up when you stopped?" she said.

Jack shrugged. "You needed the sleep."

"You need to sleep too, Jack. I can drive just as well as you." She hadn't asked the real question, and they both knew it. "Where are we stopping?"

"Hadn't thought about it," Jack said.

"So, we're just driving?"

"We'll stop to sleep," he said. "It's too cold to camp out."

"They're coming after us, aren't they?"

Jack didn't answer for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "It looks like they are."

"That's why we had to leave in the middle of the night. That's why we can't stop."

"I don't think they'll follow us across the country," he said. "I doubt they've followed us this far, but…."

"But you can't be sure. How did you find out?"

"Couldn't sleep, so I went out for a walk," he said. "Heard some guys talking about a phone call the sheriff got. They described us."

The rich flavor of the pie filling turned to dust on her tongue. "How long do you think we'll have to keep driving?"

"Like I said, they probably haven't followed us this far," he replied. "We made 'em angry. Made 'em look stupid. They're trying to get even, trying harder than I expected." Of course they were. None of Jack's calculations about this job had been right so far, aside from the pay off, and all this trouble was hardly worth it.

"We should go further north," Rose suggested.

"You mean like, Delaware?"

"Even further. Maine, maybe. We've never been there. They won't come that far looking for us. They don't have the resources to keep up the hunt for long, and they can't call every sheriff's office in the country, can they?" Rose's growing confidence gave her eyes a new glow. "It was a coincidence that message reached a town we were in, and luck that you heard it in time to get us out. They don't know which direction we're going."

"We gotta get rid of this cash," Jack said. "Next town we come to, we'll stop and send a money order off to the bank in California. That'll take care of that problem."

"You already switched license plates, didn't you?"

Jack nodded. "Before we left last night."

"The car isn't unique," Rose said. "We don't have to worry about anyone remembering it."

"You should keep a hat on, just in case. No-one's gonna forget your hair."

"You should be wearing gloves," she said.

"It's not that cold yet."

"To hide the bruises on your hand," she said.

"Oh. Hadn't thought about it," he said.

"Or did you just think they made you look tough and manly?" Rose teased.

Jack's tone was somber. "No. I didn't."

"What happened wasn't your fault, Jack."

He looked at her. "Wasn't it?"

"We can't go through this every time something goes wrong," Rose said. "Things happen. We can't predict them. You did your best. I believed it would be easy, too." She kissed him. "Let it go."

 _1932_

"You need children," Julie said knowingly.

"What?" Rose said. "No."

"What do you mean, no? Don't you want them?"

"Yes, I suppose. Someday," Rose said. "Not now."

"If not now, when?" Julie asked. "Rose, you've been married for twenty years. Pretty soon it won't be an option."

Part of Rose resented the younger woman's intrusive comments, but another part knew she was right. Time was running out, if it hadn't already. This was the chance they'd been talking about. Why put it off any longer?

"I can't have children just to keep my days full," Rose said. "That's no reason to do it."

"Plenty of people do it without a reason," Julie pointed out. "At least you've thought it out."

"That just seems rather drastic. Changing our lives completely because I'm feeling a bit restless."

"I have it on good authority a baby makes all those feelings go away," Julie said.

"What about parents who abandon their children?"

"Now, you're just being difficult," Julie said.

"I'm just not convinced," Rose replied. "I think perhaps I need a job first. I love taking care of the house, but there's only so much to do, and Jack doesn't notice most of it."

"Well, of course not," Julie said. "He's a man, isn't he?" She laughed. "But are you sure he'll let you have a job?"

"We don't have that kind of marriage," Rose said. "I can do what I like. And besides, we've discussed it."

"Uh-huh," Julie said, clearly unconvinced.

…

Figuring out what she wanted to do was the next step, or rather, Rose thought, figuring out what she _could_ do was the next step. She sat at the kitchen table, pen in hand, reading over the list. "I have many skills," she said. "But few of them are legal." So did Jack, and he'd managed to find a legitimate job. "I can too." There had be to something out there, some combination of her talents she could be paid for. Rose tapped the notebook with her pen. There weren't enough jobs to go around already; add in her gender, and things were even more difficult.

"I can't stay here all day," she said. "I'll go crazy." She glanced at the clock. Three more hours until Jack came home. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to start looking."

Rose walked slowly. It was still odd to walk without a purpose. Before she always had a destination, a specific task to complete and a time frame to do it in. Now her time was as empty as the sky. Some people would be grateful for that; she knew her life wasn't so bad. The hardest days were over.

 _1925_

"We can keep driving," rose said. They were parked in an alley near the post office. "After you send the money we can get some good and keep going. We'll take turns sleeping."

"It's too cold," Jack said.

"No, it isn't. Not yet. I'm not saying we'll do this forever, just until we're far enough away," she said. "I know you want to keep going, Jack. I see it in your eyes."

"You'll wake me up if you get tired?"

"I'll wake you up if I get tired."

"You promise, Rose?"

"I promise," she said. "Don't I always wake you up?"

"No." He said it amiably.

"Neither do you," she replied.

They looked at each other for a moment; their mouths curled up in tentative smiles. "So, Maine, huh?" he said.

"I hear it's nice there. Plenty of fishing."

"You wanna fish?' he said.

"It's an option," Rose said. "We have to find something to do. Stay out of trouble for a while."

"Guess we're takin that vacation after all."

 _1932_

There was a sign in the beauty parlor window. Rose stopped to read it, even though it wasn't an option. What did she know about hair? "It can't be that difficult," she mused. "I could learn." She didn't really want to, and she knew it. This was a game she was playing with herself, imagining futures she wouldn't have.

Jack saw her as he left the courthouse. "Rose?" he called. She turned; a smile lit up her face. "What're you doing here?" he asked.

"I came to see what the job market is like," she said.

"Find anything?"

"It's a bit dismal," she replied.

They fell into step; she slipped her arm through his. "You don't hafta find one," he said. "Unless you want to."

"I want to. I think I need to. As much as I enjoy inventing chores and finding new ways for you _not_ to notice me, I need something more."

"I notice you, Rose," he said. "The other day was-"

"I know," she said. "I'm not bothered by it."

"If you really want something else to do, we'll find a job for you," Jack promised.

They walked home, neither noticing the pair of eyes that followed them as they rounded the next corner.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: This chapter gets a bit intense. It's probably more M than T.**

Rose lined up the jars on the counter. There were twelve. Crates of fruit sat on the table; pots covered the stove. She had a sack of sugar and a box of pectin. There was a recipe book, lent to her by Julia, and another from the library downtown. She opened it to a recipe for red plum jam, picked up a knife, and began reading as she peeled.

It was quite simple, really, much simpler than she expected. Soon the fruit was peeled and cut, the spices were added, all the necessary powders had been stirred in, and the whole thing was simmering in the pot. She liked plum; Jack liked apple. There was enough for six jars of each. Rose smiled to herself, pleased by how well it turned out. At last, there was a new project to finish.

…

"Where did you say you're from?" Miranda asked casually, eyes on the memo she was typing. She was the younger of the two women who worked in the office, with fashionably cut black hair. She kept working, feigning indifference to his answer. "All over," Jack said. "Back East, mostly."

His head was bent over the drawing in front of him. This deliberate avoiding of gazes, the artificial disinterest, was amusing. She'd been sent to gather information. Someone had questions they weren't willing to ask themselves, and she had been chosen, most likely, Jack mused, because she was pretty. There was no denying it. Miranda was a lovely girl, though not exactly his type. He had never quite gotten used to such short hair on women. It was old-fashioned; he knew his preference for longer hair made him seem even older than he was, and Jack tried not to see forty as old.

"So, no quaint hometown then?" she said.

"Not really." It was almost a lie, and yet, Jack told it like the truth. That was the key, as he'd explained to Rose, all those years ago. Sound like you believe what you're saying. If _you_ sound unsure, they'll be unsure. It was simple. "But you'd be surprised how many people get that part wrong," he'd said.

They'd lain in the warm grass, basking in the sun. It was the first real summer day, and anything more taxing was simply beyond them. "I suppose that means I shouldn't trust you," Rose said. She rolled onto her side and faced him. "You always seem to believe everything you tell me."

"That's different. What I tell you is the truth."

His eyes convinced her. It was always his eyes that separated his sets of truths. There was something in them when he looked at her that was missing with other people.

"It's hard to imagine spending so much time traveling," Miranda said.

Jack blinked; the spell was broken. "Not really," he said. "It's not the long vacation you might thing. It takes just as much work to travel as it does to stay in one place."

"I'm sure."

She had more questions. Jack sensed them. They were probably questions he'd already answered. Someone was looking for cracks in his story. But who? And why? Jack put his head down and set about finishing up the drawing, but only his hands were invited. His mind was busy trying to unravel the mystery.

….

The house smelled delicious. Jack dropped his things in a chair. "Rose?" he called. His stomach rumbled. He hadn't been all that hungry on the way home, but now, lunch felt like a distant dream.

"In the kitchen," she called back.

The smell was stronger in there. "What's this?" he asked, reaching for a jar.

"Don't, Jack!"

It was too late. His hand was around it. He cried out in pain, flinging the jar away. Rose managed to catch it in a towel. "They're still rather hot," she said apologetically. "I just finished that one. Here, put your hand under the water."

The ice cold water soothed the burn, leaving only a faint red mark. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It's my own fault," Jack said. "My mother taught me not to touch everything I see." He held up his hand. "Just fine. You making jam?"

"I was, actually."

"What gave you that idea?" he asked.

"I've never done it. I figured I should try. It might come in handy someday."

"We could sell jam," he said.

"Probably not," Rose said. "It came together easily, but I'm not sure how it will taste."

"I'm sure it'll be delicious."

….

Jack was right. It was delicious. Two days later, when it had cooled down, they spread it on toast for breakfast. "What'd I tell you?" Jack said between bites. "Perfect." He reached for another slice of bread. "If I'd known you could do this, we woulda given up business years ago."

"You don't mean that," Rose said.

"I might." His blue eyes glittered. They were as bright and youthful as ever. Rose wondered how other people saw him. To her, he was exactly the same as the night they met, only he'd grown even more attractive. That was likely just because she loved him, she thought.

 _April 1912_

There was something about him. Rose didn't know what it was, exactly. She only knew she wanted to go on talking with him; she wanted the afternoon to stretch beyond its allotted time, into forever, if possible. She wanted him to always turn that grin on her, blue eyes sparkling like the ocean, like clean, deep water.

Their hands were nearly touching on the railing. A few inches was all that lay between them. Rose tried not to look at his hands, the long, shapely fingers, the smooth palms and strong wrists. What would it be like to touch them? To be touched by them? Rose's heart beat faster at the thought. Did he know? Was her face betraying her?

Jack appeared undisturbed by any unwanted or unmanageable desires. Or so it seemed to Rose. In fact, he was fighting his own urge to reach for her hand. The spitting lesson gave him the perfect excuse to take it. Jack didn't think; he just reached, his hand curling around hers. It was such a small thing, really, but she didn't object. She didn't take her hand way, even while protesting the activity he suggested. Rose was sad when they reached the other railing, and he let go.

….

Gloves separated their skin. She cursed them. What was the point of wearing gloves up to her elbow for fifteen minutes, twenty at most? She couldn't eat in them. Talking them on and off was a nuisance. They snagged on her ring. _That_ deserved its own round of cursing, that awful, over-done thing.

Jack's lips touched the glove, and a shiver moved down Rose's back. Her knees felt weak. She felt something else too, a new feeling she couldn't identify. There had been traces of it that afternoon, but now it was more pronounced. Rose wondered at this strange stirring. It wasn't entirely unlike what she felt when she gazed at a good paintings, but it was more urgent than that. Thus far she had believed the emotions Art poured over her were the most intense she would ever experience. Now, she saw how wrong she'd been. Why had no-one told her?

Rose looked into Jack's eyes. "I saw that in a Nickelodeon once, and I always wanted to do it," he said, grinning. That smile. Those eyes. Was there a more beautiful man? Rose smiled back; she laughed softly. It sounded like bells to Jack, like delicate, silver bells. He wanted to hear it over and over.

…..

Rose contained her feelings better than she hoped. His lips brushed her fingers, his hand in hers, and her heart fluttered. She didn't breathe. Jack looked into her face, an ache growing within him. He smelled her perfume, some sort of flowery scent. It wasn't rose, though he thought it should be. He would give her a bottle of rose perfume, the best there was. He would put roses in her hair. He would feed her fresh honey on soft, thick bread and rich milk. There were fanciful notions, but he didn't care. Rose would appreciate honey straight from the hive. His parents had kept bees, and he missed the taste of honey harvested by his own hands. These days he grew nothing; his hands created drawings and money, though his face and voice did most of the work where that was concerned.

Jack couldn't stop himself from looking back. His head kept turning of its own accord. He had to see her again. He loved her. It hit him like a blow to the chest. That was it. Jack loved Rose.

….

She was in his arms. Their hearts beat together. She was so close. Rose was startled by how close he'd brought her, but secretly, she was pleased. She wanted to be even closer. His hand pressed lightly against her back. What would happen if she stroked his neck, beneath his collar? Or his throat? His cheek? Her eyes moved over his mouth. What would happen if she kissed him?

They moved together, touching safely, faces flushed; it wasn't enough, but it would do for now.

That night Rose lay in her bed, skin on fire, and wondered what it would be like to have Jack there with her. It wasn't just the physical need for him, strong though that was, but rather, something deeper. Love. It wasn't anything like what she expected, but she recognized it. This was love, this concern for his happiness, his life, over her own. Love was wishing to be near him, to bring that smile to his face, to do whatever it took to keep him warm and safe, fresh paper always at the ready. Love was being willing to plunge into the world of uncertainty and excitement, her hand in his.

Rose loved Jack, and she was terrified by it.

….

She wasn't afraid anymore. How could she be? His arms were around her, his hands on hers, caressing her fingers. She felt his strength. They flew together, hurling themselves into the sunset. Their lips met, and Jack knew nothing he'd ever experienced before compared to this.

…

He was wrong. That night seemed bent on proving him wrong. The ache was overwhelming. She was beneath him, her legs bare, knees against his hips. Her arms were around him; her hands moved over his naked back. They hadn't taken off all their clothes, just most of them. She'd taken his shirt off, running her hands across his chest in amazement. There wasn't time or space enough to properly undress or to explore the way they wanted to. This was enough, for now. There would be other times. They knew this without having to say it.

Their kisses were like breathing. Jack slipped a hand between her legs and gasped at her warmth. She was soft and wet. Rose's eyes widened as he began caressing her with his fingertips. He moved slowly, figuring out how to touch her as he went. The slight movement of her hips and the low groan told him he was doing well. He grinned down at her before placing his lips on her breast.

Rose twisted one hand in his damp hair; the other pressed into his back. His tongue flicked over the tender flesh of her breast as he lovingly stroked her, soothing the ache, and also somehow making it worse. Something was going to burst within her. Rose felt it. It had to happen, soon, or she would die.

"Jack." It was more moan than word. He kissed her, pleased with himself. He felt her body tense. "Relax, Rose," he whispered into her skin. "Don't fight it."

How could she? Whatever was happening, it was stronger than she. The cry left her mouth; it had a will of its own. Her body had a will of its own. She heard her voice, but the voice, if in fact she was forming words, were indecipherable. It was overwhelming; it was all too much. Rose hoped it would never stop. What was he doing? How did he know this would happen? Was it some secret? Why had no-one ever told her?

…..

Rose was light; she was floating; she was hardly a person anymore. "Jack. Jack." She clung to him. She kissed him hungrily, wanting more. He slipped his fingers into her, leaving his thumb free.

Was this right? Surely it couldn't be. She felt him against her leg, hard as a rock. Surely more than his hands were involved. _That_ —she couldn't bring herself to even think the word—played a role.

All thought vanished as she began ascending again. Jack looked down into her eyes. "I love you," he whispered.

He was so gentle. That's what Rose remembered most. After the hot rush of pleasured and desire faded, and she was able to think clearly again, it was his gentleness that stayed with her. How carefully he touched her, how affectionately. It was like he wasn't just thinking of bringing her pleasure, but also, and perhaps more importantly, with not making her uncomfortable.

"Can I?" he asked.

"Yes." Rose could say no. She could have said no already, stopped his hand, stopped it all. There was such freedom in that knowledge.

"I won't hurt you," Jack promised.

He entered her slowly, kissing her as he did. She tensed, not quite trusting his promise. Of course it would hurt; _that_ , at least, she already knew. And so many good feelings must come at a price. "Relax, Rose," he whispered. He put his hand back. "Trust me."

Taking her up, up, he moved into her, and she didn't know how, but he was right; it didn't hurt.

"Is it supposed to be like that?" she asked as they dressed.

Jack drew her to him. "Yes." He kissed her. Rose clutched the front of his shirt. "But it's never been like that," he said. "Rose, you…." Too late. The voices came, and they had to run. Together. They would spend the rest of their lives running together. Stopping was impossible once they started.

….

 _1932_

"There's just something about him," Roy said. "Don't you see it?

"Not really," Miranda said. "He seems like a nice, normal guy."

"He's hiding something."

"Who isn't?" she said. "Most people have a few secrets. Why should we care?"

"This is more than that. I can feel it. There's something…." He searched for the right word. "Big," he said. "It's more than some youthful indiscretion. That man has a past, and he's trying to cover it up."

"Why do you care?" Miranda asked.

"I don't," Roy said.

"Then why all the questions."

"I'm curious. That's all," he said.

"Uh-huh," she said, unconvinced. She smoothed his rumpled shirt. "You have enough secrets of your own. Don't go looking for other people's."

"I'm not."

"And how would you react if someone came looking for ours?" she went on, ignoring his comment.

"They won't," Roy said. "No-one knows. No-one suspects a thing."

That wasn't entirely true. Jack knew all about their affair. It never occurred to him that while he was watching Jack, looking for answers, Jack had already gathered all the information there was about both of them. "I just don't trust him," he said.

…

The next afternoon Roy found a reason to justify his suspicions. It came in the form of Wes.

…..

But that hadn't happened yet, and when it did, they would know nothing about it, at least, not for a while. That night Jack and Rose were blissfully unaware of anything but their own happiness. All thoughts of empty days and restlessness were banished as they feasted on jam and fresh bread. It wasn't quite the meal Jack once imagined for them, but it would do. It was more than enough.

"It hardly seems like any time has passed," he said. He cracked an egg and poured it into a bowl. He smiled over at her. "We coulda met yesterday." He poured the eggs into the skillet, and they began to sizzle.

"Best watch those," Rose said indulgently. "Or they'll burn."

"Don't you think so?" he persisted.

"I do." She kissed his neck. "You look the same."

"I didn't look like much back then."

"You know you did, Jack. After all, you seduced me."

"I did what?" he said in mock horror. "I would never!"

"What would you call it?" she asked.

"I loved you."

He still did. Jack loved Rose more than ever.

"Is that the word?" she said. He nodded. He took her hand and laced their fingers together. "I was trying to show you," he said.

"You succeeded. Quite well," she said. Their lips brushed. He pushed the eggs to the other end of the stove and turned off the burner. "I thought you were hungry," she said.

"Later."

…

 _1912_

Rose loved Jack. She hadn't believed she could love someone this much. She pulled him closer and kissed him greedily. He was hers. She was his. Suddenly, that didn't sound like a punishment; it sounded like freedom. Her body burned from his touch. The whole world lay ahead of them. They could do anything.

"Rose, I have to tell you something," he said.

"What is it?" she asked.

 _1932_

"What is it?" Roy said. He regarded Wes with tired eyes. "How can I help you?"

"What do you know about that blonde fells that walked out of here a little while ago?" Wes asked. Roy straightened his back, suddenly interested.


	14. Chapter 14

_1924_

The stars glowed overhead. Rose rested against Jack, their bodies curled into one another. It was cool enough to stay close, but not too cold to camp out. That was how she liked it best. After a long day of driving, it felt good to stretch out in the soft grass. Sleeping on the ground wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as she first believed. It took some getting used to, but now Rose woke up refreshed. And this way there was no risk of oversleeping. The sun always woke them.

"You promised you'd tell me the rest," Jack reminded her.

"Did I?"

"Uh-huh," he said.

"I thought you might forget," she said.

"Nope."

"Alright," Rose said. "I'll tell you. I had to beg my mother for ballet lessons. She didn't see any need for them. Regular dance lessons would give me plenty of poise, and I'd learn the proper ways to move. It wasn't like I was going to have any kind of career in dance. I'd never go onstage."

"Of course not," he said. "That would be vulgar."

"Quite. So, I was finally allowed to take lessons. Madame Krupskaya was my teacher. She was a grand Russian lady."

"And that's how you learned to stand on your toes," Jack said.

"Eventually. It took a few years to get there. It's not as easy as it looks."

"Think you could teach me?" he asked.

Rose laughed. "I doubt it. You'd probably break a few toes if you tried it."

"Thanks for confidence."

"I'd rather you keep you from getting hurt," she said. "I like you intact."

"Well, in that case, thank you for real," he said.

"You're welcome."

Jack yawned. "Tell me the rest."

"If you insist," she said, ruffling his hair.  
…

There was always a chance someone would come across them when they camped out, but that morning they woke undisturbed. The sun was barely up, and the day was already warm. Rose stood up and brushed her hair with her fingers. They both needed baths. There was soap in the car, and they'd found a stream the night before.

The old Rose would never have agreed to bathe in an ice cold stream with fish swimming around her and a shared bar of soap. Sometimes she wished that girl could see her now; she wondered what she'd say. That Rose would claim horror, naturally, but under that, interest would lurk. Curiosity. And maybe a little envy.

Jack blinked against the sun's glare. "It's morning already?" he said.

"I'm afraid so."

"It feels like I just got to sleep," he said. He yawned loudly. "You look rested."

"Sleeping outside can do that."

Jack rubbed his eyes. "Not today, not for me."

"You'll feel better after you've had a bath," she said.

….

Jack didn't know if better was the word for it, but after he stepped into the cold water, he was certainly awake. They washed quickly, always on the lookout for anyone who might pass by. They were miles from the nearest town, but you couldn't be too careful, especially, Jack pointed out, when you're naked.

They didn't look like people who slept outside at all, let alone the previous night, when they finished. "What do we have for breakfast?" Jack asked.

Rose unpacked their picnic hamper. "Not much," she said. There was half a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a tin of sardines, some oyster crackers, and a can of condensed milk. "Hardly a feast," she added drily.

"We've got sardines," he said cheerfully.

" _You_ have sardines, Jack."

"Why don't you like them?" he asked, already opening the tin. Rose wrinkled her nose as the smell was released. "Why do you like them?" she asked.

He ignored the question. "You think it would take too long to get a fire going?"

"I thought you wanted to leave early," she said. "Last night you said no fires at breakfast."

"Yeah, I just thought these would be good on toast," Jack replied. "I can eat 'em with the crackers, though."

Rose made a face. "How you can eat them at all is beyond me."

"They're delicious."

"I'll stick with the peanut butter," she said.

"Are you sure? There's enough for both of us." Jack held out the tin. "I don't mind."

She moved back. "No, really, Jack, it's fine. Enjoy. We'll have a good lunch and make up for it."

"If you're sure," he said.

As Jack popped one of the tiny fish into his mouth, Rose said, "Trust me, darling, I'm quite sure."

…..

They drove with the windows open. The wind blew their hair back. The road was empty; dust rose behind them. Jack sat in a relaxed pose, one hand on the wheel, his free arm around Rose. She held a book but wasn't reading. "What do you think about doing business with change?" she asked.

"You mean like bill switching?"

"No, not like what we already do," she said. "When we were at the bank last time, I noticed a man turning in rolls of change for bills. The teller never opened them to make sure the right coins were inside. He handed him five full dime rolls, but there could've been pennies inside. Or buttons."

"That's an interesting idea," Jack said. "How long have you been thinking about it?"

"A few days, I figured would put a few dimes a teach end and fill the rest with pennies, so if you open it, they'll be fooled."

"Unless they open it all the way," he said.

'Do you think they'll go to that much trouble?"

"Probably not," Jack replied. "Especially if there's a long line. They'll wanna get us out of there." He thought for a moment. "We can't use our own bank."

"Of course not," Rose said. "And we shouldn't do it in a small town. It needs to be somewhere a stranger wouldn't be noticed."

"Where are we close to?"

Rose unfolded the map. "Ann Arbor. We're about an hour away."

"Let's stop for lunch in the next town," he suggested. "We'll figure this out then."

….

"Pennies are easy to come by," Rose said. "That part won't be difficult."

"No, it won't. If a roll of dimes is $5, we can do four rolls at each bank and make $20 each time," Jack said. "If we hit five banks a day, that's $100."

"We'd have to stay in cities big enough to have that many banks," she said. "Or we could go in separately and turn five into ten."

"That's a thought, but what if someone notices?"

"If you don't notice we're giving them pennies instead of dimes, why should they notice anything else?" Rose said.

"I see your point, but still….Where are we gonna get all the pennies?" he asked.

"We probably have a lot already." Rose reached into her purse and pulled out a handful. "They just collect without you noticing."

"We'll need more, though."

As he paid for their meal. Jack handed the cashier two extra dollars. "You wouldn't happen to have some rolled pennies I could trade you for, would you?" he asked.

The young woman gave him a curious look, but she took the money and gave him four rolls of pennies. Jack grinned. "Thanks," he said.

He was still grinning when he reached the car. "What are you so happy about?" Rose asked.

"I figured out our penny problem." He laid the rolls in her lap; "We can just ask for them."

She laughed. "I hadn't even thought of that."

"It probably won't work everywhere," Jack said. "But this should get us started."

On their way out of town they stopped at the local bank, and Rose asked for ten paper dime rolls. The teller gave them to her without hesitation. Rose smiled brightly and complimented the girl's dress—which wasn't a lie—and left. Jack was in line behind her. He asked for and received the same thing with ease.

"We shoulda thought of this sooner," he said, as the town disappeared behind them. "This will probably be one of the easiest ways of doing business."

"Let's wait and see if it worse first," Rose said.

…

They checked into a hotel, and once safely in their room, began to put the new plan into action. Sprawled across the bed, they filled each dime roll with pennies, placing two dimes at each end, just in case. The whole process took about half an hour.

"Should we give it a try today?" Jack asked. Eagerness shone in his blue eyes.

"It might be best to see what the banks are like before we do anything," Rose said.

"Guess you're right. In the meantime, we can make up more of these," he said. "If we get enough done we'll be able to hit every bank in town."

Doing business always excited them both, but Jack was especially eager for this project. Rose hadn't seen him this way in a while, not since their last new venture. Rose understood the glow in his eyes. She felt the thrill of trying something new as well, but one of them had to at least try and keep a cool head. "We'll get more rolls," she agreed. "And more pennies."

She folded over the end of the last roll and placed it in the cigar box with the others. "How much cash do we have?" he asked.

"$118.45," Rose answered.

"Hand me a $20, will you?"

"Sure."

"There's no reason for us to keep paying for all this," Jack said. "Pretty soon we won't be making any money at all from it."

It was an exaggeration, but he did have a point. If it cost too much or took up too much time, they might as well be working legitimate jobs.

"You're going to change a twenty?" she said.

"No, you are. And we aren't going to quick change it." Jack scribbled a few words on the back and presented it to her.

"Happy Birthday, Maureen," she read. "Love, Uncle George." She nodded. "I see."

….

Jack went up to the counter first. He bought tooth paste and a packet of pencils; the total was $0.82. The man behind the register barely looked at the twenty dollar bill Jack handed him. He counted out the change, and Jack was on his way. He lingered outside, sneaking looks through the window.

It was Rose's turn next. Her hair was in a braid down her back, and she wore a girlish dress. A hat hung around her neck on ribbons, giving the impression she's pushed it off and forgotten about it. Her face had been scrubbed clean; she wore no make-up, and her wedding ring was in her purse. The overall effect was to make her look about five years younger than she actually was.

"Is this all you need?" the cashier asked.

She grinned. "That's everything."

On the counter lay two spooks of ribbon and a pack of gum. The total cost was $0.75. She gave the man a five. He counted back the change, putting the money in her hand.

Rose gathered her things and put them in her purse. She turned to leave, but after only a few steps she stopped. She turned back around, brows knitted. "I think you gave me the wrong change," she said.

"I gave you $4.25," he said. "That's what's left out of the $5 you gave me."

"But I gave you a twenty," she said.

"No, you didn't. You gave me a five."

Rose shook her head. "I didn't," she insisted. "I gave you a twenty."

"Young lady, I am sure you didn't."

"I did!" she argued.

"Fine. I'll check," he said. The drawer popped open with a _ding_. He rifled through the five slot and then through the twenties. "There aren't any twenties mixed in with the fives," he said. "You must be mistaken."

"I'm not," Rose said, a whine coming into her voice. She stomped her foot. "I gave you a twenty."

A second man stepped out of the back room. "What's all the fuss?" he asked, looking from the clerk to Rose.

"This young lady thinks she gave me a twenty, but she didn't," the clerk said. "She gave me a five."

"That's wrong!" Rose cried. Her lower lip trembled, and tears filled her eyes. "It was a birthday present from my Uncle George in Indiana. He sent it to me, and he even wrote Happy Birthday, Maureen on the back."

"Just check, Horace," the other man instructed.

"I already did," Horace grumbled. He took out the fives. "See? No twenties."

"Check them too."

There, on the top, was the bill Rose described. Of course, it was the bill Jack paid with, but there was no way of proving that. "Well, I'll be," Horace said.

"Just give her back her money," the other man said, shaking his head in disgust. "And be more careful next time."

"I'm sorry, miss," Horace said.

Rose sniffled. "That's alright." She flounced outside, her purse swinging from her arm.

She met Jack down the street. He spun her around, laughing. "You've still got it, Rose," he said. He kissed her.

"Did you have any doubt?" she said.

"No." He took her hand. "Let's get out of here before somebody notices us."

…

After dinner Jack exchanged another two dollars for pennies. Rose divided their money, putting the Penny Money into its own envelope in her purse. Once again they sat across the bed, rolls and pills of shiny pennies around them.

"I wonder if anyone else has ever done this?" Rose said.

"Somebody has to have thought of it," Jack said.

"Well, not many people can have done it, or the banks would make a point of checking."

They didn't discuss what would happen if their scheme was exposed. They could always try and talk their way out of it, but what explanation could they really give? They'd have to blame someone else, distance themselves from the fraudulent coins somehow. Just maybe, if they were lucky, they'd be believed. Maybe the police wouldn't get involved.

Jack was sure they wouldn't be arrested. Why waste time with something like that? More likely, they'd be thrown out of the bank. They'd have to leave the city. Word would get around. That wasn't so bad. They could survive that.

"I'll go first," Jack offered.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said.

"You're getting nervous," Rose said. It wasn't a judgment.

"Maybe a little. I'd just like to make sure it works before you do it."

"Every band is different," she pointed out. "We can't predict what will happen."

"If we could, it wouldn't be fun," he said, trying to sound glib.

….

They spent the next day driving around looking at all the local banks. They all opened at nine, and they were slow until the mid-morning rush hit around eleven. There was another rush between one and two thirty. After that, business slacked off until about four thirty. They closed at five.

"It feels like we're preparing to rob them," Rose said. "Don't you think?"

"I see what you mean," Jack agreed.

"What do you think it's like?"

"Armed robbery?" he said. "Difficult. Dangerous."

"And unnecessary."

He nodded. "Exactly."

"Isn't what we're doing robbery, Jack?"

"No, Rose-Petal," he said. "Not at all. If we were robbing these banks, we'd have guns. We'd need someone to stay in the car and make sure we got away. People would get hurt, maybe killed. Maybe us."

"But in the end, it's the same," Rose said. "We walk out with their money."

"Yeah, but this is just business. It's not about force, just who's smarter."

"And we're smarter," she said.

Jack grinned. "Always, Petal."

…

They decided to try the mid-morning rush first. Jack went in. Rose sat in the car, twisting a handkerchief in her hands. There was no reason to be afraid. She knew better; everything would be fine. It was a smart plan. They'd gone over what he would do down to the smallest detail. Still, she couldn't help worrying. She told herself it was a good sign. The moment they stopped worrying was the moment everything would go wrong.

Meanwhile. Jack was waiting in line patiently; he held five rolls of what appeared to be dimes in his hands. When his turn came he stepped up to the teller's window and grinned. The teller was a young man, but that wasn't necessarily a problem. He just had to use a different kind of charm.

"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked.

"I wondered if you could trade me these rolled dimes for cash," Jack said, pushing the rolls toward him.

"You've sure got a lot."

"Yeah," Jack said. "I've been saving up, putting times in a jar for over a year to get my girl a ring. Finally got enough."

The teller nodded. "I know how you feel," he said. "I saved up for two years. Didn't think to do it that way, though." He laughed. "I've probably _lost_ at least $20 in dimes." He put the rolls in a drawer, not bothering to open them or even to test their weight in his hand. He took five twenties from another drawer and held them out to Jack. "Here ya go."

"Thank you," Jack said.

"Good luck."

"And to you," Jack said with a nod.

He kept his head down as he walked back to the car. He glanced around, but as far as he could tell, he wasn't being followed.

"How did it go?" Rose asked.

"Fantastic," he said. As they drove away, he added, "It went exactly the way we planned. You were right. They don't check. That guy, he didn't question me at all."

"So, we're in business then?"

"We're in business," Jack said.

 **AN: Thanks everyone for reading this and my other stories. I hope you enjoy them!**


	15. Chapter 15

_1924_

They hit the rest of the banks and headed out of town. They made $200. "Not bad for a day's work," Jack said.

"It's certainly more than we'd get anywhere else."

"We're coming up to Russelville, next right?" he said.

"I think so." Rose scanned the map. "And then Glenwood, and then Derry. Those are good towns."

"We haven't been there in a while."

"We probably won't be remembered," she said.

There was a gleam in his eyes. "Think there's any new widows out that way?"

"The newspaper should tell us. That diner near the hotel we stayed in last time sold newspapers," Rose said. "One for the town, and there was a bigger, county newspaper. We always had good luck with them."

"It's not luck," Jack said.

"You don't think we're lucky? Not even a little?"

He shook his head. "Well, maybe a little," he said. "I'd still call it skill first. We know what we're doin, and that matters more than anything else."

"You really have a tremendous amount of faith in us, don't you?"

"Of course." Jack glanced at her. "Don't you?"

"I do," she said. "It's hard to believe you did all this by yourself. I can't imagine doing business alone."

"It's not that bad. You figure it out. There's some things you can count on." He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead; his hand tightened around the wheel. The change was palpable. Rose knew it was because of what she'd said. Jack wasn't a moody person, but sometimes, if being alone was mentioned, his entire disposition changed. It was like a cloud descended upon him. He was afraid of being alone again. She knew without him having to say it.

Rose moved closer. She lay her head on his shoulder. His arm looped around her.

"You want to change a twenty next time we stop?" she asked. "We can get some more penny money."

"We could do that. Just a quick change?"

"That's probably best," she said. "We can be in and out in five minutes. We'll do it after we eat, and then move on."

Jack nodded. "I like it. That's a good plan."

…..

They stopped for a late lunch at a small roadside diner. Theirs was the only car in the lot. Jack looked around before they got out. "Is something wrong?" Rose asked.

"No. Just getting a look at things."

He wasn't quite himself again, but he was closer. She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "What there to worry about?" she said.

"Always something to worry about," Jack replied amiably.

"Not if I'm with you."

He smiled, and his blue eyes lit up. Rose felt like the only other person in the world as he looked at her. "That's right," he said.

"Do you want to change the bill, or should I?"

"I'll do it," Jack said. "You got the last one."

The guy behind the counter would have been a good mark; he was young, and he kept sneaking glances at Rose. He blushed and ducked his head when Jack caught his eye. Yes, he would've been easy to fluster, but the older man in the kitchen wouldn't be taken in so easily. Jack saw him through the window. He could see everything going on in the main room. There was no way he'd miss the cashier rifling through the till. Jack hated to see a good opportunity wasted, but there was nothing to be done.

"Let's go across the street," he said. "Stretch our legs before we start driving again."

The store was empty; if not for the girl behind the counter, they would've assumed it was closed. It was a ramshackle affair, obviously thrown together quickly. The shelves were fully stocked, though, and the selection was rather impressive. Rose guessed it was connected to the diner. No doubt the same people owned both.

The girl glanced at them as they moved up and down the aisles, but the bulk of her attention was reserved for the romance magazine in front of her. "We could walk out of here with everything," Rose whispered.

Jack chuckled. "Wanna try?"

"We probably shouldn't. That's not our line," she said.

"Yeah….It's tempting though, isn't it? When it's so easy."

"I thought you liked a challenge," Rose said, batting her lashes at him.

"I love a challenge."

She brushed his hand with her fingertips. "I'll be out in the car."

Jack watched her go, half-smiling. He'd once thought nothing could be more exciting than business; nothing could hold his attention the way it did or inspire the same level of devotion. He was wrong. She could. She had. Without her, what was the point? He didn't really believe she'd live him, but sometimes he found himself afraid. It wasn't rational. It didn't come from anything she said or did. The fear never lasted long; it just swept over him and was gone, leaving him flat on the inside. Sometimes he stayed that way all day.

Was it a mistake, loving someone this much? He'd lost everything before. Who was to say that wouldn't happen again? But _she_ happened to him too. Jack believed that meant something. It had to.

He took a book from the rack by the window. They needed something new to read, even if it was a trashy pulp novel. He laid the book, some sardine tins, and a box of hairpins on the counter.

The girl looked up from her magazine, and Jack flashed her a grin. She was pretty, but in that way where it was obvious she didn't know how pretty she really was. She smiled back, and he saw her heart fluttering in her eyes. Jack wondered if anyone ever noticed her. He hoped they did.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked.

"No. Thanks."

"That'll be $2.50," she said.

Jack made sure to touch her hand when he gave her the $20. He held her gaze. There was a current in the air. Her brown eyes had flecks of green in them, and her lips were full. He could imagine what kissing her would be like. In another time, he would have found out. He would have held her close, hands tangled in her hair, and kissed her until neither of them had any breath left. He might have done more Maybe. In another time. Before Rose.

"$17.50. Your change," she said.

"Thanks." Jack moved to put the money in his wallet. "Say, you think you could give me a ten for this five and these ones?"

"Sure." She handed him a $10 bill.

"Thanks. Actually, while we're at it, why don't you just give me a twenty?" He passed her the $17. "And that'll be even."

"A ten for that, and-" She couldn't think with him staring at her. The numbers were just one big jumble. She held a wad of bills in her hand. She saw ones and fives. What he said made sense. He held the twenty; the ten was gone.

"I gave it back to you," Jack said, in answer to her puzzled look.

She nodded. "I thought so." Of course he had. It was in that wad of bills somewhere.

"Thanks." Jack touched her hand again.

"Come back," she said.

She stared after him when he was gone, waiting for her heart to beat normally again. Her hand tingled where he touched it. She bit her lip. For a second, she thought he might kiss her. But that was foolish. She opened the drawer. "This is ten," she said, sorting the bills. "For a ten. And then…That can't be right." She looked at the door again.

…..

Chasing them down would have been impossible. They turned left, and with no other cars on the road, Jack was free to put the pedal on the floor. He kept both hands on the wheel. There wasn't a curve in sight, but why take the chance? Going this face wasn't necessary. It was actually a little dangerous, even with an open road, but Jack liked it. So did Rose.

"You got a new book?" she said. " _The Bonds of Passion_ ," she read, turning it over. "Hmm."

"It was the only thing they had."

She opened to a random page. "The heavens opened up, and rain poured down on Betsy, soaking through her silk chemise The wet fabric clung to her creamy skin, the tear exposing her firm thighs." Rose raised an eyebrow. "Well," she said, fanning herself. "That's quite the predicament."

"What happens?" Jack asked.

"Does someone save the distressed heroine?"

"Is that what's gonna happen?" he laughed.

"Jack, I'm shocked. What do you think?"

"I think I know what I'd do if it were you," he said.

"Oh really? Enlighten me, Jack."

He shook his head. "Not now. Later. I'll tell you all about it."

….

Jack had to slow down when it began to rain. Out of nowhere a downpour came, washing over the road and covering everything. He drove at a crawl, gripping the wheel with steady hands "This book must have magical powers," Rose said. She laughed nervously. She jumped as lightning filled the sky in front of them. Thunder boomed overhead.

"It's alright, Rose," Jack said. "Do you see anything?"

"No. I can't see anything."

"I'm gonna get us off the road until this dies down," he said. He opened the window and stuck his head out. Rain whipped against his face. He could just make out a space next to the road. There weren't any trees in sight. He let out a heavy breath when they were finally off the road.

Lightning crashed again. Rose jumped. "C'mere," Jack said, holding out his arm. She curled up against him like a cat. "It's just a storm," he said. "It'll pass."

"I know."

"I don't like them either," he said.

"It's being out here like this that scares me," Rose said.

"We'll be fine. Trust me." He kissed her lightly. "Want me to read for a while?"

"Sure."

…..

"The castle's twisting corridors seemed bent on keeping Betsy lost," Jack read. "No matter which way she turned, things were unfamiliar. Just as she despaired of ever finding her room, Lord Blackburn appeared-"

"Da-da-da," Rose sang.

Jack laughed. "I wonder what _he_ wants."

"I couldn't guess Probably a slice of pie left over from dinner," she said.

"I'm sure you're right." He shifted his legs, searching for a new position. Rain pounded down on the roof. Outside, it was pitch black. He doubted they would leave before morning.

"Let's move to the back," Rose suggested. "You'll be more comfortable."

"I'm fine."

"No, come on," she said, tugging his arm.

They settled in the back seat. It wasn't must bigger, but stretching out was easier. Jack lay on the outside; Rose nestled in the space between him and the seat. "Do you have enough room?" she asked.

"Plenty. Where'd that book go?"

"Here," she said.

"Thanks." He kissed her forehead. "Let's see…Oh, here we are. Lord Blackburn appeared, his cloak billowing out behind him, torch in hand. In the dim light his handsome features took on a softer cast. Betsy wasn't so frightened of him now, though her heart beat faster when he came near. You shouldn't be here, he said."

Jack's voice went up, taking on a plaintive tone. "I was lost."

"You do Betsy's voice very well," Rose said.

"Thank you."

"Maybe we'll go on the stage if things don't work out," she said.

"We _are_ accomplished actors," he said.

"Or we could write pulp romances."

"There's an idea," Jack said. "I bet we'd make a fortune if we tried. It's probably a lotta work though. Four hundred pages don't just write themselves."

"Sure they do," Rose said. "You just figure out what sort of book you're doing, choose names for everyone, you're halfway there. It's like putting the pieces of a puzzle in place. You never noticed how similar they all tend to be?"

"Yeah, now that you bring it up," he said.

"I bet you anything Lord Blackburn tried to seduce Betsy."

"Right now?" he said.

"In a few pages. Now he's fighting his feelings."

Jack scanned the next page. "You're right."

"See? The same."

"They're still fun," he said.

"You enjoy reading about Betsy's heaving bosom and firm thighs?" she teased.

"Reminds me of yours."

"Oh?" Rose said. She titled her head up to face him. "Does it?" His arm was under her. He let the book slip from his hand. There was a chill in the air. He shifted his weight, holding her closer. "I'm cold, Jack," she whispered.

"I've got you, Rose."

Their lips brushed. They both held back, refusing to give in to the kiss. Jack's eyes were dark. His free hand rested on her waist. Rose wished he would move it. Somewhere. Anywhere. Under her dress. It felt like years since he'd touched her.

His mouth twitched with laughter, and she wondered if he could read her thoughts. "I promised to tell you something," he said.

Rose feigned surprise. "Did you?"

"And it's raining." Jack slipped her dress up. He kissed her throat as his hand moved over her legs.

She sighed. "Is this it?" she asked.

Jack shook his head. "No."

….

It seemed fitting their first time had been in a car. Jack hadn't known then how many chances they would have to repeat it, but he'd sensed their future that night. His life was an endless trip; the road was his home. What better symbol of that than a car? Some people still clung to the belief they were only a passing fad, but he knew better.

The rain kept falling. They held each other, trembling, and the rain fell around them. Lightning crashed. Rose held tighter to Jack. "It's alright," he said. "It can't hurt us in here."

"I know. It still makes me nervous."

"Don't worry," he said. "I've got you, Rose."

"What do you think will happen at the end of the book?"

"Betsy becomes Lady Blackburn," he said.

"Obviously."

"And the ghost is banished," he went on.

"If it's real," she pointed out.

"Don't you think it's real?"

"It could be the first Lady Blackburn," she said. "Hidden up in the attic."

"That's _Jane Eyre_."

"This is a rather _Jane Eyre_ book," she replied.

"I thought we should've gotten more of Bertha's story," Jack said. "I felt bad for her."

"So did I. I'll probably be your Bertha."

"What? That's crazy," he said. "Don't say that."

"I don't really think you'd lock me in an attic."

"You'd better not."

Rose shivered. "You're smarter than that."

"I am not. Are you cold?" Jack pulled another blanket off the floor. "Here."

"Thank you."

He kissed her. "Don't talk like that. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I didn't mean it."

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry. I just…."

"You don't have to explain, Jack."

"Everything changes, but not us," he said.

Rose kissed him. "Never us."

…

It was true. They didn't know what lay ahead, what colossal changes were on their way in just a few years, but amidst it all, that remained true. They had each other. As things began spiraling out of control Jack would return to that fact. They could only trust each other. Once he'd trusted no-one.

But all of that was a long way off when they woke up the next morning. The sun shone; the sky was clear and blue. The world looked refreshed. It was cold and clean. They dressed under the blankets. Rose's stomach growled.

"We don't have anything to eat, do we?" she said.

"A few cans of sardines," Jack replied guiltily. "I got 'em when I changed that twenty yesterday."

"Of course you did."

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't know we'd spend the night like this."

"It wasn't all bad." She smiled. "I enjoyed it."

"Did you?" He kissed her palm. "Good to know." He combed his fingers through his hair. "Let's get going. Find some breakfast."

"And a bathtub."

"You need a bath already?" he said jokingly. "I forgot. I married a lady."

"How could you forget?"

"I don't know. You're so demanding," he said. "Food. Baths. You're gonna want to sleep in a bed tonight, aren't you?"

"I'd considered it," Rose said.

"See? Demanding."

The field was nothing but mud now. It took a few tries before they were back on the road. "Car needs washed," Jack said.

"Unless we're aiming for a bedraggled appearance."

"Seems to work for Betsy," he said.

Rose laughed. "Is that the kind of attention we want?"

"I don't think we've ever tried that. Would you check the map, please?"

"I think we're a few miles outside of Russelville," she said.

"Good. I'm hungry."

"You've got sardines," Rose reminded him.

"That wouldn't be fair," he said. "Rose?"

"Yes?"

"Would you read a little more?" he asked.

"Sure."

….

They ate breakfast in the hotel dining room. It was crowded, and they blended in easily; just the way they liked it.

While Rose soaked in the tub, Jack made up the next batch of pennies. They still had to check out the banks, but there was no harm in being prepared. He opened the window and lit a cigarette. It was old. He found the pack at the bottom of his rucksack. He rarely had the need to smoke anymore, but it felt good just then. The cold air rushed over him, and everything felt good.

 **The End**

 **AN: I decided to end the story here because it felt right. This was originally intended to be a oneshot, and I can't quite believe it's gotten as long as it has. I know the "present day" plot isn't resolved; that's sort of the point. This story isn't linear, and in a way, none of the different threads and plots are ever resolved. You can probably guess what will happen to them, but I like the idea of leaving it ambiguous and just kind of knowing they'll be fine. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story!**


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